A Rare and Wonderful Thing Amidst the Darkness
by Lourdes23
Summary: A series of drabbles for my Alistair/Cousland pairing and their experiences along throughout their journey. And I finally stopped.
1. We Won't Say Forever

**I wanted something different as far as the first love scene between Alistair and my Warden. I was a little put-off by how detached the main character seemed from the whole conversation – if some hottie was pouring his heart out to me, I think I'd be a little more interactive. So I stirred things up a bit. I hope you enjoy my take.**

**We Won't Say Forever…**

He had received gifts from her before. They all had. She had spent her life in wealth typical of her noble birth, and giving gifts was something her mother had taught her to do early on; to share what she had. It was in her nature to approach any one of them at camp and present them with a trinket, a book, a bottle of ale, whatever she thought would please them. They were her friends, Valeria had said once; the only family she had left. It lightened her heart to see them smile.

But this time, it was clear she knew this present was different. This gift was handled with reverence, and when she passed it into his fingers she said nothing about how she obtained it or why she thought he'd like it. She simply stood there, watching.

The amulet was still warm from being held by her for what must have been a while. Tiny cracks scarred its face; differing it from his memory. But the cracks just reinforced the knowledge that this was indeed the very pendant he had worn as a child. The only memento he had of a mother he had never known.

He stared dumbly at the bauble, realizing to his mild surprise that he was prattling on aimlessly about where she had found it and how he had lost it. Valeria knew all of this already, of course. She had found it, after all, and he had told her how he had lost it sometime ago during a fit of childish rage. Of course that's how she had known it when she found it, and why he was receiving it instead of Morrigan; whose taste for jewelry would normally put her first in line for such a gift.

"Thank you," he said at last, "I mean it." It seemed so inadequate a phrase, and he felt his chest tighten at the thoughtfulness of the gesture she had just made. "Did you remember me mentioning it?" Another brilliant question. But if there was one thing he was good at, it was sounding like a complete fool… at least with her. Her eyes flickered to her feet momentarily and he could have sworn that _she_ was nervous. Was that even possible? He couldn't remember ever seeing her like this before.

"Of course I remembered," she said softly, her cheeks turning pink – _pink_ of all things! "You're special to me." Her hands wrung until the leather of her gloves squeaked, though she raised her head and tried to affix a calm expression to her blushing face.

Alistair chuckled low, though inwardly his mind was buzzing and his heart was trying to break through his ribs. She hadn't said it like she would have to Wynne. And making a comment like that to Leliana wouldn't have her turning every shade of red in creation. Her strawberry locks looked almost drab in comparison to her adopted complexion – something he had never thought possible.

_Oh Maker… does she…_

He'd never had a woman do this to him before; both her actions and the feelings they inspired within him.

The women who frequented the Templar training grounds and station posts offered favors for coin. Never did they look at you with anything other than want, for coin or flesh or both at times. And the noble women who sought out a warrior to sate their wild desires always looked upon his kind as though it was the fighting men's duty to service their betters in all ways. He had been grateful there had always been other men eager to steal the women's attention from him. Because of that he'd never had a messy encounter with a woman he had to turn down. He had indeed become a master at deflection.

Valeria's eyes cast back to her leather boots, using the toe of one to dig a small pebble out of the dirt with seemingly great patience. "I… was hoping we could… discuss something personal. If you're not busy, that is."

Alistair swallowed hard. _She_ _was_ _bumbling!_

"Well, we're in camp." He said slowly, trying his best to sound as though her request didn't turn his insides to liquid.

She nodded, chewing her lip thoughtfully. Silence passed between them and Alistair, who had the fantastic habit of filling awkward silence with mindless chatter, felt the compulsion yet again.

"I guess, now's as good a time as any-"

Valeria closed the distance between them in a single step.

Long fingers slid behind his neck, threading up into his hair, and rising up on her toes to make up for the inch or two he had over her, Valeria kissed him softly. Heat radiated from her face as she blushed hotly. Or maybe it was his face that scorched them? Or perhaps both? All she truly knew was Alistair's lips against hers, the feel of his mouth as it transformed beneath hers. Unyielding flesh softening as the surprise gave way, molding to encase her lower lip within his.

Twining his arms around her waist, he pulled Valeria closer to him, willing himself to feel her lithe body melt against him. To his frustration, a layer of silverite and another of leather kept him from knowing the exquisite feel of her form against his. One small hand left his neck, trailing down. He felt her hand drawing his arm further around her, as though trying to tighten his hold.

The taste of her silken lips on his, the urgency of her pull at his arm, and Alistair felt something well up inside him; burning and all consuming. Something he had felt hints of in the past, but now experienced with all of the subtlety of a landslide.

Desire.

"Maker's Breath!" He swore with a gasp that broke the kiss.

Valeria's eyes widened. The tug at his arm stopped and her fingers released his hair instantly. She was rigid beneath his touch; wrenching herself from his arms, her gloved fingers flying to her mouth.

_Oh no…_

"I'm so sorry," she blurted. "I didn't mean… I mean I meant it but… Please don't think I gave you the amulet for this. I didn't. I mean…" Valeria, the most composed and self assured person he had ever known – short of Duncan, was falling all over herself in embarrassment. Her eyes dropped to the ground; mortified. "I'm sorry Alistair…"

"No, please," Alistair beseeched over her apologies, desperate to repair the damage he had wrought with his inexperience, "please don't do that. Oh, I'm such a fool." Tentatively he reached out and took up her hand without drawing near.

"Do you know what you do to me?" His voice was soft, but broken, and Valeria stilled. The fire that burned through his veins fiercer than the taint ever could was now accompanied by an icy anxiety, making his stomach turn and his fingers fumble nervously. "I can't think straight. I can't… I can't see reason when I'm with you."

"I don't understand." She breathed, confusion marring her smooth features. He forced himself to take a breath, to think before he spoke next. He wouldn't hurt her. Not now. Not ever, if he could help it.

"When I'm with you," he said softly, "all of the horror, all of the pain, it just disappears. And all that's left is you. No one has ever made me feel like this before. I didn't even think it was possible." With one hand he cupped her face as gently as he could, mindful of the metal that still clad his fingers. The tension in her spine receded slightly; the worry lifted from her eyes.

A shadow moved near the fire. Someone was close to them; closer than Alistair wanted. Who it was didn't matter. Valeria's eyes flickered to the silhouette as well, aware that they were not alone. Sparkling green eyes rose to meet with amber once more and the worry in Alistair's stomach dissolved. There was something there in her gaze, something that told him she wasn't going to try to leave.

"I feel the same way," she murmured. "I think I have for some time." Moving slowly, as though he were afraid of startling away a skittish deer, Alistair took Valeria back into his arms. When her hands slid up to rest upon his biceps he almost whispered a prayer of thanks to Andraste.

"I'm not any good at this, I know. I've never… there's never been anyone before you." He fought the urge to look away from her; fought the shame that had been trained into him since he first entered the Chantry's service as a boy. "I've never done anything like this before."

Valeria nodded weakly, "I understand. I wasn't lying either, when I told you I'd never…" a single chortle rose form Alistair's chest as he recalled their childish euphemism; their first _real_ flirtation. In truth, it had been the first time he had engaged in that sort of talk with any woman in a way that was totally honest. But now the feel of her breath against his neck dispelled the memory, fond as it was, and faster than he thought possible the boiling need returned to his blood.

"I'm probably saying this wrong… or doing it wrong… but…" He peered at her from beneath his brow, as though too timid to face her directly. "I don't want to wait anymore." He whispered. "Spend the night with me. Here, in camp. Please." Valeria's eyes widened.

She knew what value he placed on intimacy and how careful he was to avoid moving too quickly. He was a gentleman, through and through. Even their flirtations had always ended quickly. Alistair would not permit anything that went beyond the light and humorous. "Are you sure this is what you want?" She asked and immediately regretted the question. She had just given him a chance to take it back – and more than anything she didn't want that.

No; more than anything she didn't want him to regret being with her. If there was a chance of it, better to know now than the following morning.

She wouldn't risk what they had for one night in his arms.

"We may never get the chance that others get. That perfect moment where the stars align and you know that this is it - forever." He said with a sadness she understood all too well. "I don't want to go through life never knowing what it was like to be with the one I…" His words died out, but not before Valeria pieced it together.

_With the one I love._ It hung in the air like a heady perfume. Her heart thrummed wildly within her chest at the unspoken.

She swallowed hard. In his admission she also heard his plea for acceptance. For love.

She wondered how he could not know that he had long held both within her heart.

Threading her fingers through his, Valeria looked into his eyes, waiting for him to meet her gaze and hold firm.

"Come with me." She whispered so softly he barely heard her, and yet found himself wondering who else in their party had overheard the command. Valeria moved around the fire, passing Zevran's tent, then Alistair's, before coming to a stop at her own. One last look over her shoulder to the man that would tonight become her lover and Valeria ducked inside, allowing Alistair to hold open the tent flap for her.

His ears burned hot; he knew the others were watching at his back. The camp was utterly silent behind him. Stooping low, Alistair tried to put their companions out of his thoughts and entered the temporary shelter, pausing only to secure the flap shut with the twin lengths of twine.

While the interior was dim, the blazing campfire outside managed to cast enough light through the white canvas for them to see well enough without the need for a lantern.

Valeria had already removed her boots and was kneeling on the bedroll, peeling the leather gloves from her fingers as though it was the most important task in Thedas. He followed her example, shedding footwear and gauntlets beside the entrance as discreetly as he could. From beyond, Leliana had started to sing. Though it was not uncommon for the bard to sing at camp, it was usually done quietly and mostly for herself. Yet tonight she sang heartily, so that the others could hear, as she most likely settled into her nightly ritual of fletching arrows for her bow.

_Bless that woman._ Alistair swore he would never crack another joke about her vision or sanity again.

The click of armor releasing from its catches caught his attention. Behind him, Valeria had set to work on dislodging him from his plate mail, never once looking him in the face. In moments he was down to a plain white shirt and his trousers.

While she was still clad in her vexing leather coverings.

Women's armor confounded him – it had no clear fasteners and seemed a complicated thing to adorn each day. Or maybe it was just his complete inexperience with women's clothing.

Raising her arm, Valeria began loosening the laces at her side that held the garment tight to her, and was quickly enough able to discard the gear into the same pile as Alistair's.

Beneath she wore nothing but her small clothes.

"Maker's Breath," Alistair sighed, or would have, had he breath left within his lungs. It was his favorite curse, and while Valeria was usually not one for swearing, somehow that particular epithet had found a sentimental place in her heart. Because it was his.

This time she did not fear the meaning of the oath, the shine of his eyes told her that he enjoyed what he saw, and it raised her confidence slightly. On hands and knees she moved closer to him, her fingers finding the hem of his shirt.

"I think we won't get very far if you're still wearing this." She murmured with a small smile that teased ever so slightly. Her fingertips trailed gently up his ribs as she lifted the fabric, waiting for him to raise his arms in compliance. With his chest now bare to the skin, it was Valeria's turn to release a shuddering breath of approval. Tentative fingers reached out and touched the warm skin over his heart. Alistair shivered at the touch, his fingers reaching up to press her hand against his chest firmly.

"What is there is yours," he said gently, "always." He could promise her that, at least.

His vow drove the timorousness from her, and acting purely on impulse, Valeria pressed her bare skin to his, claiming his mouth in a kiss far deeper than the one they had shared outside. Strong arms, bare and warm against her flesh, held her to him as though she could slip away like smoke in an instant. Her arms encircled his neck, finger burying into thick honey brown hair.

When the tip of his tongue tested her lower lip gently she felt something akin to the tingle of lightening in the air course through her body. Parting her lips, she used her own tongue to beckon him in, and Alistair groaned against her mouth, answering her encouragement eagerly.

Arms slid open so that hands had leave to explore. His shoulder blade, her collarbone, his stomach, her ribs; every inch of skin that was deemed safe was explored. Feminine fingers danced lightly over her lover's chest, caressing the darker flesh that perked into a hard bead at her touch. She paused to give the eager region special treatment, fluttering fingers over his flesh and eliciting a soft moan from him. Despite her advancement, Alistair still hesitated.

Without breaking the kiss they were thoroughly engaged in, Valeria sought out and clutched his battle roughened fingers within hers, guiding him to her breast, where she slipped him beneath the fabric that bound her. Alistair's hand trembled at the touch of forbidden skin, though he did not pull away while she positioned his fingers so they grasped the hardness that tipped her pillowy mound. Following what he believed she wanted, Alistair ran a calloused thumb over the protrudence delicately. At this, a wave of pleasure threaded its way up her spine, causing Valeria to writhe against his touch.

Extracting himself from her lips, Alistair shifted his mouth over to the softness of her throat, his eyes falling to the sight of his tanned hand as it gently worked her breast. He could scarcely believe that it was his hand; that she was before him, inviting him to touch her, to experience her. Reaching an arm behind herself, Valeria released the catch on the negligible garment, letting the silky material slip to her lap, revealing herself to his view.

"So… beautiful," it was another understatement. Wondrous would have been better. She was fair and smooth, her skin practically luminescent in the pale light. He raised his face to hers once more, noticing that her cheeks were warm and heavily tinted in the dim light. Yet despite the battle she was currently waging against her modestly, Valeria still managed to smile at him.

"I think," she murmured, casting her eyes down pointedly, "you have an unfair advantage here."

His trousers.

"Right." He said awkwardly, suddenly understanding why she blushed so hotly and feeling himself grow warm as well. Here he would display himself to her as she did to him. Her fingers found the laces at his waist.

"May I?" She glanced back to his face, checking to see his reaction.

"Yes, please." He was fairly certain he'd only create a terrible knot in his current state, thus bringing an end to their intended activities.

Then again, one of her daggers could easily remedy that situation – not that he cared to have a blade so close to his anatomy.

Slender fingers made quick work of the laces to his relief, and Alistair rose up onto his knees, allowing her to push the fabric down passed his hips. As she removed his trousers, Valeria hooked her thumbs over the top of his smallclothes, slowly dragging the material down toned hips and thighs. Alistair tensed, fighting the urge to stop her.

This was what he wanted. He had to let this happen. It was foolish to-

"Maker's Mercy…" it was odd to hear an oath such as that cross her lips, and Alistair wondered if he had offended her just now with his arousal. He knew that there was nothing timid about his nether regions at the moment; that part of him did not take note of things like propriety. But when gentle fingertips brushed his length curiously all worry was forgotten; and all he could do was gasp at the sensation of the foreign touch upon his masculinity. Her breath upon his manhood as she bent to finish removing his clothing only made it worse, and the ache between his legs grew insistent.

Was it possible to die of desire? He'd never heard of anyone dying from it, but then he guessed it could have happened. He certainly felt it was possible now.

"Alistair?" She whispered at his stomach, the staccato breath of his name on her lips causing him to twitch against his belly, and he groaned in both embarrassment and longing.

"Yes?"

"I…" her voice was weak and she did not raise her face to look up at him, "I think I want… I…"

Oh Maker, she had changed her mind. She didn't want this anymore. Shutting his eyes tightly against the screaming denial in his head, Alistair fought for control of himself.

"Whatever you want," he forced out at last, trying to sound as though he understood. "I swear, it won't change how I feel for you."

She didn't move, didn't speak. For six agonizing seconds, Alistair waited for her to tell him to redress and leave her tent.

Moist warmth engulfed his arousal, and Alistair's eyes practically bulged from his skull at the sensation. Lowering his gaze, he found Valeria had taken him into her mouth, and was now giving his manhood the same attention she had bestowed upon his tongue earlier. She explored his heat, pressing tongue to flesh; gliding lips over skin that stretched and smoothed as he expanded to his fullest. Alistair grunted, fighting the urge to double over.

"V-Valeria…" his head swam and he found it harder and harder to hold himself upright. He was going to fall onto her any moment. Or worse. His insides had started to twist and tense, readying for something he knew he did not yet want. "W-wait…" Startled eyes rose to him in the dim light and she pulled her mouth from his flesh, to his utter dismay and relief.

"Was that… not right?" She was timid, clearly worried she had crossed the line. He took her by the shoulders, slowly bringing her up to eye level with him again, running the backs of his fingertips over her cheek.

"I don't want it to end like that." He admitted at last. "Maker woman, where did you learn that?"

"I didn't…" she said softly, "I just wanted to… to discover your body. To love more of you than just your mouth. I… didn't offend you, I hope." Her hand played nervously at her throat, aware that she had just moved well beyond simple kissing and petting.

She was experimenting. Toying with things she probably overheard as a girl from coarse servants who had not enough sense to watch their tongues.

Of course Valeria would be adventurous, it was in her nature. She almost never backed down from any challenge, he had learned. Yet her anxiety told him more than her words how new this all was to her, and the way her hands quivered said that she was far more nervous of his reaction than she should be. With a gentle touch he guided her down onto the soft bedroll, crawling over her slowly, his eyes never leaving hers.

"You've had your turn," he said in a low growl. "Now it's mine."

Sliding his hands to her sides and then down her hips, he began rolling the fabric of her smallclothes down her legs and off of her body completely. His mouth started at her stomach, his lips and tongue tracing the toned line of definition down her belly to her womanhood. Nuzzling her thighs with his nose, he bade her to part her legs for him, which she did slowly.

"Alistair?" Her whisper was hesitant, at odds with the fierce rogue he knew her to be outside of the tent.

His mouth found her folds and at the first tender kiss he placed there, his newfound lover cried out softly, writhing beneath his contact and moaning his name in a chant he could grow to love more than that of the Chantry. Never in his life could he ever have imagined his name could sound so… erotic.

His kisses remained gentle, his tongue doing as much searching and prodding as hers had. He explored her, learned her depths and peaks; and found a small bead of flesh that caused her to cry out loud when he took it into his lips and suckled it gently. Sweat sprang to her flesh and warm honey flowed from her as she clutched at his shoulders, pushing him onward, begging him not to stop.

Begging him…

With his fingers Alistair parted her folds to grant him better access to that point that drove his beloved to a frenzy and, feeling curious himself, allowed one finger to slip into her just a little bit. She had dared first, after all, and in doing so had set the rules of the evening.

She bucked into his hand and cried out to the heavens. All Alistair could to do to silence her was claim her mouth with his; leaving his hand where it rested, unwilling to deprive her of the pleasure it brought her.

Slowly, carefully, he pushed himself further into her body, adding another finger to the first and feeling her soft insides pull at him, drawing him in as though her body was trying to claim him.

_Will she do this with…_

He resisted the urge that throbbed beneath his navel, holding her at bay with his hands and lips. His mouth traveled low again, taking one pink peak into his lips where it hardened against his working tongue. Hands that had snapped the necks of darkspawn now worked lovingly at stroking her insides as he would the petals of a rose - his touch still firm enough to feel the softness of her walls yield at his ministrations. Her hands roved hungrily down his stomach, seeking his weakness, whimpering her yearnings from above his head. His fingers were bathed in her response to him, warm and running down his palm while he returned to her mouth, wanting to battle her tongue. Wanting to taste her flowing heat, her budding peaks – her everything.

"Please, Alistair," she moaned into his mouth, "please… don't make me wait anymore."

She found and tugged at his manhood, trying to bring him closer to her goal. The response it caused within him was enough to make Alistair forget his desire to taste her nectar once more. When he sucked a harsh breath in from between their teeth, Valeria's fingers tightened their hold and pulled gently against the member for a second time, realizing she had done something that brought him pleasure. Alistair whimpered; the muscles in his torso rippled in glorious agony. Pleasure so great it nearly caused pain… his hips met against her hand and she shifted beneath him so that he lay between her thighs. Her fingers tightened, sliding back up the shaft so that she could pull at it with kind insistence; repeating the action again and again so that he would shudder above her repeatedly. The hazy look in his eyes left her drunk with desire.

"Come to me?" She breathed into his ear.

"My Lady," his voice was graveled and heavy with such attachment it almost broke her heart, "your desire is my command."

Removing his touch from her femininity, Alistair took hold of himself, placing it at her entrance. The heat and wetness there awoke something within him, something instinctual and demanding. He needed to bury himself in that sensation – to plunge into her depths and assert her body as his and only his.

But she was untouched, and just as he knew about childbirth, so did he know about a woman still in possession of her purity.

The sisters at the monastery had told him that deflowering a woman was a horrendous thing. It made her cry and bleed as the man tore through flesh too fragile to bear the strain. He wondered how much of that was true.

Valeria's hips lifted against him, trying to push him into her center of her own accord. "No please… don't stop. Not now…" It was a whimper that smacked of defeat.

She was afraid he was having second thoughts?

He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of such an idea, but lust choked off that ability. Instead he groaned.

"Hold tight to me, my dear," he whispered, taking one earlobe into his lips briefly. The rogue complied, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, holding on as though he were the only thing that would keep her from being swept away.

As gently as he could, with all of the restraint he possessed, he sheathed himself within her heat, feeling her fight against the urge to recoil, hearing her breath catch. Her eyes pressed closed as she fought for control of herself. He paused and waited, touching his forehead to hers, wishing that pain didn't have to invade every aspect of their lives.

Seconds passed where the only sound to be heard was Valeria's breath. Alistair for his part dared not breathe, lest the movement cause her any more hurt. Her hands eventually traveled lower on his back, coming to rest on his buttocks, and Alistair exhaled heavily when she began to pull him into her further, her hips lifting, coaxing him in.

Her legs lifted, wrapping around his thighs, pinning him against her.

"Alistair," she whispered at last, "come to me, please…"

All of the restraint he had possessed shredded into nothing, and he buried himself to the hilt within her, noticing with infinite pleasure that she did indeed draw him in as she had before. Her back arched, thrusting her body against his chest, and he captured her mouth with his, his hands roved over her planes and valleys without his knowledge of their travels. His tongue sought hers out, caressing her lip and making way for her to do the same.

He was no longer timid, no longer afraid of what she would say or think. Alistair had taken her, declared her to be his, if not in words then in actions, and Valeria surrendered to him gladly. Her body was meant for his hands, her lips for his mouth. Her heart was his to break or fill at his whim. It was no longer a choice for her. It was already done.

He drove himself into her, and every time they collided completely he thought it could never be enough. Not her. Not this. She was more addictive than Lyrium and fatal if he were to be deprived of her for too long. She was more than just in his veins, like the taint or a drug; she had permeated every fiber of his being. Here in the tent her fingers burrowed into his hair, her nails scratching at his scalp lightly; and then his back with less restraint. She would leave her mark upon his skin tonight.

And upon his soul forever.

She clutched at him, pulling herself tighter against his sculpted body, then pushing away so she could ravage his chest, collarbone and throat with hard, wet kisses that had him hissing and groaning her name. His lips found her throat and he followed the satiny column back to her jaw, her cheek, and her lips. Her face now flushed hot not from modesty, but from passion so fierce it caused the pair to forget everything but each other. He was solid, and heavy, and _real_. The strong muscles of his flanks and back flexed between her thighs as he moved within her, turning her insides to liquid fire and her mind into a white fog that held only enough consciousness for her to be aware of the tangible world.

Her walls tightened around him, her body started to quake. Alistair swore absently under his breath, knowing he would not last much longer. Not with her core gripping him so tightly, imploring…

"Please," she panted into his ear, her voice so covetous it was unlikely she was aware that she spoke, "Alistair… oh…. Blazing Sword of An-… _Alistair_…" his name drew out in length upon her lips, but he wouldn't have noticed if she had called for the Maker himself. Her hips bucked into him rigorously, demanding his length, her body trembled down through the legs that clung to him so forcefully.

And he could do nothing but follow her into a wave of passion and pleasure that stole thought from his mind and breath from his body. Release came to him with such intensity it roiled agony into bliss and became a torture he willed never to end. The shuddering gasp of his lover was buried by a moan that originated somewhere in the deep roads and ended in his throat. With a final quiver that reverberated both inside and out, Valeria stilled beneath him, breathless and slick with sweat.

On trembling arms Alistair braced upon his elbows, holding himself above her cautiously until she pulled his head down to her bare breast. No longer passionate, her fingers combed tenderly through his hair, her lips grazing the skin of his temple. The fire of their need had been doused, and now all that remained was the tenderness that had never really left.

For the first time in so long, Alistair could not find the will to fill the silence with chatter. The quiet was almost sacred; the sound of her heart beneath his ear called to him, promising him peace if he only stayed where he was. There would be no need to draw the blanket over them; their shelter held enough heat to see them through the night.

"I suspect," she whispered at last, "your tent will be only a formality from now on." His head lifted from its beating pillow and he turned an expression of such vulnerability upon her Valeria wondered how many times he could break her heart in a single evening. She had never had someone look upon her the way he did.

"Tell me you mean that," he whispered. Tilting her head up, she planted a light kiss at the tip of his nose.

"Stay with me." Though it was not a question, her appeal was clear. "Tonight and every night after, for as long as we are able."

She wouldn't say forever. Not yet. He would not promise something he could not be sure of, she knew. Their futures were uncertain. There was no knowing if they would survive what lay ahead. If she asked for forever, he would have to deny her.

She didn't want to hear him say that, even if it was only a temporary denial. She would wait instead.

She would ask only for what she knew he could promise. For now that would have to be enough.

Alistair smiled gently, giving his answer without words, but with the touch of his lips to hers. His weight slid from her body, and he pulled her onto her side, pressing her back to his chest so that he could rest a hand over her heart.

Her palm slid over his fingers, holding them in place.

"What is there is yours," she repeated his words, "always." His lips caressed her ear and she sighed languorously, allowing the fatigue and bliss of her body to infect her mind, lulling her into sleep.

Sometime later, after Valeria's breathing had evened out, and her fingers curled possessively over his, Alistair remained propped on one elbow, watching her sleep. Weariness pulled at his lids and made his limbs heavy against the thick blankets. But tonight was the first night he had taken his lover into his arms and into _their_ bed. He wanted to remember this.

Valeria sighed lightly as she settled herself into a more comfortable place against his chest; her grip on his fingers shifted to press them once more to her heart. Even in sleep she would not let him go.

Though his mouth wouldn't form the words for her, and his mind argued that such a thing was not within his power-

In his heart, Alistair was already promising Valeria forever.

Fin

XXXX

**I wanted a smut fest, and with Alistair you have to incorporate love to stay in canon – so bonus for me! I've thrown around the idea of writing a one-shot lemon fic for a while and finally found my muse yesterday. This was fun to write. :o) What can I say? I'm a fangirl! **


	2. More Than She Thought

**I'm doing this all out of order, I know. Sorry about that. But I write them as they come to me – even if it's all disjointed and out of sequence. Then I get all impatient and post them immediately – not bothering to wait in case some story of an earlier context pops into my head. At least you can go back and read them in order if you want. :o) I'll try to keep them in order from now on - or at least write them so they make some sense.**

**More Than She Thought… A Simple Beginning**

"Are you busy?"

Valeria looked up from her whetstone and smiled. Smiling came easily to her whenever he was near.

"For you? Not at all." She set aside the mundane task of honing her daggers and rose from her seat beside the fire. "What's on your mind?"

"Here, look at this," as though time were of the essence, Alistair's hand thrust out before him. Clutched gently within the metal grip was a single rose; its ruby petals open in glorious bloom. "Do you know what this is?" He asked. Valeria had the feeling this was a set up for a joke; his flurried movements and rushed words hinting that she had to respond for the game to continue.

"A rather odd choice of weaponry for you, don't you think?" She struck first, unwilling to lose this battle of wits without putting up at least a weak struggle. Alistair smiled at her jest.

"Oh, I don't know. I thought it quite fetching. Watch as I thrash our enemies with the mighty power of floral arrangements! I shall overpower them with my rosy scent!" When he feigned a jab with the flower, arching an eyebrow playfully as he wagged it before her nose, Valeria couldn't help but to chuckle, shaking her head. Before Alistair, she had never known anyone beside Fergus who had been willing to play the part of the fool just to draw a laugh from her. And in making her laugh, she conceded defeat. Alistair was better practiced at the art of witty repartee than she, after all.

"Or… you know…" Alistair went on without that familiar lighthearted posture and she quieted, "it could just be a rose."

Valeria tilted her head, her smile slipping as he went back to examining the flower. She realized now that she had noticed the flower previously, though she had never given it any thought until now. It had been just a bud then. "You've had that for a while, haven't you?" He shrugged, one fingertip delicately tracing the edge of an outer petal.

"I picked it in Lothering. I wondered how such a beautiful thing could have grown in a place with so much despair. But if I had left it, the Blight would have swallowed it up by now. I couldn't let that happen."

"You rescued it?" She asked, though now there was no taunt to her words. It seemed odd for Alistair to save a lone flower when an entire populous was about to be lost. She had a feeling rescue had not been his intent, or else the flower would have been the least of his concerns.

"Well I… I thought I might… give it to you, actually." His words confirmed her suspicions, though not for any reason she would have guessed. Almost uncertainly, Alistair held the rose out towards her. "In a lot of ways … I think the same thing when I look at you." Slowly, without looking into his face, she reached out and set the stem between her leather-bound fingers.

"So now I'm a gentle flower?" At this Alistair chuckled low and something inside her sighed with relief. Alistair had never treated her like one of those nobles' sons who had come to court her in Highever. She hoped he never would. He was better than those boys had been, noble upbringing or no. He should never need to treat –

Her heart lurched, her mind churning with how she had just associated Alistair with those noble lads. Because it _did_ make sense.

_Oh Maker, is Alistair… is he trying… _

The male warden shook his head, oblivious to her inner shock. "You? A gentle flower? My dear, while there are many kind words I could use to describe you, 'gentle' would not be among them." He sobered. "I just… I wanted to let you know what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all of this darkness."

A single rose. She'd received dozens of them in her life; perhaps hundreds. And jewelry. And fine chocolates. And more trinkets from would-be suitors than she could ever have recalled. But in this gift; this single, simple rose, Valeria felt something within her shift. Her heart fluttered in the oddest way.

"Thank you, Alistair. I… this means a lot to me. Truly."

He was _courting_ her! Impossible! Alistair was… he was her friend – perhaps the dearest friend she had ever known. It was odd to admit such a thing after such a short time together, but utterly true. He had endeared himself to her so quickly she hadn't even noticed how vital he had become to her. After all, how could she not befriend him? Alistair was funny, and charming, and honorable, and sensitive and -

Valeria swallowed.

And she _wanted_ him to pursue her. Maker help her, for this was possibly the worst timing in the history of the world, but she wanted to be desired by this man.

His soft voice broke through her thoughts and with a start she realized he had been speaking to her while she had been lost in her revelation. The look in his eyes was compassionate and kind and…

… and she could get lost in that look if she let herself. Valeria gave herself a mental shake.

"So… does this mean we're married?" It was a corny taunt, and completely at odds with what she wanted to say, but it was the first thing that came to mind. For his part Alistair laughed.

"You won't land me that easily woman," he chortled, and at that Valeria laughed – as much in relief as amusement. That he could tease her meant he had not guessed what her mind was spinning at this moment. "I don't know. I guess it was just a stupid impulse," her elation dipped at those words until he added, "was it the wrong one?"

"No!" She blurted quickly, realizing suddenly that she perhaps sounded a bit desperate. Valeria forced composure back into her voice and went on. "I want it… very much. Thank you."

"Well good." He said, satisfied. "I'm glad you like it. Now if we could move on passed this awkward, embarrassing stage and get right to the steamy bits I'd appreciate it."

Most definitely not one of those noble whelps who had come begging for her hand, she decided with almost giddy relief. Alistair treated her like an equal, not some delicate doll or prize to be had. Just as he always had before this conversation, Alistair's easy nature drew her in, making it easy to forget the tumble of emotions she had just experienced in rapid succession. He was bantering with her now; trying to get a rise out of her.

Too bad for him he had just sent her reeling a moment before with something far more shocking. His attempt found no stability within her mind to upset.

Valeria eyed him critically more for his benefit than hers, her gaze drifting down his chest and legs before rising back to his face, a devilish smile twisting her mouth.

"Alright then," she said, jerking her chin at him impertinently, "off with the armor!"

To her delight, Alistair's face turned one, then another shade of red. The mot nervous chuckle she had ever heard him emit fluttered out of his throat and he started to flounder.

"Bluff called! Damn, she saw right through me."

Victory was hers after all! It was rare that Valeria won a bought of whit against him. She wanted to savor this moment. And perhaps drive him to the same state of bewilderment he had moments before placed her in.

"You know, Alistair," she murmured in an enticing voice, "you're quite cute when you're bashful." It was meant to be a taunt, but she couldn't help but admit that every word of it was true. Alistair's chuckling rose in pitch nervously, and she nearly giggled in response.

"I'll be…" his voice cracked, "I'll be over here… until the blushing stops. You know. Just to be safe."

Valeria nodded. "All right. Good night, then."

She started to turn from him and then noticed that the rose was still in her fingers. It had been real, this gift of his. In her victory she had for an instance forgotten to let her heart race. Valeria brought the flower to her lips, inhaling its scent deeply, enjoying the silken smoothness of its petals against her skin.

And as she turned away she heard the sound of Alistair sighing. It was a deep sound; something that drew her skin into gooseflesh and sent a ripple of pleasure down her spine. He sighed for _her_. She felt like a girl-child, drunk on her first taste of romance. She wanted to turn to him, to see what expression he wore in those amber eyes. She wanted to see if her effect on him was similar to what he was doing to her.

But the night was wearing down, and they still had a great task before them. She had to allow them the rest they would require to be of any use tomorrow.

Hiding her smile behind the large blossom, Valeria retreated to her tent.

Where she could dream of her dearest friend in secret.

_Fin_

XXXX


	3. Weakness

**Weakness**

Alistair stood in muted shock, unable to speak, or move or daresay even breathe. Everything seemed to have happened so fast.

XXXX

They had trekked through the Frostback Mountains on their way to Orzammar and had happened upon a wandering merchant at the entrance to the great city. Faryn, as he had called himself, had boasted the best 'slightly used' armaments to be found. Ever in search of armor more likely to save their skins, Valeria had stopped to peruse his stock.

After only a moment of browsing through seemingly useless arrows, helms and other mundane items, her face drained of color and her hands began to tremble almost violently.

"Where…" the questions died upon her lips before it was fully uttered. At length she stood muted, simply staring at the selection before her, as though lost to the world beyond her mind. "Where did you find this?" She managed at last, her fingers reaching down to lift a particularly fine sword from the man's wares.

Faryn dumbly oblivious, smiled graciously. "That handsome piece? Proud of that find, I am. That came from the Wilds. Can you believe someone would just abandon-"

"Was he dead?" Valeria's voice trembled in a way Alistair had never heard from her. Her question, abrupt as it was, startled those who overheard. "The one who wielded this sword – was he dead?"

"I beg your pardon! You accusing me of being a grave robber? I'll have you kn-"

Steal rang out shrilly and before any of their group could take a step forward or even cry out in alarm, Valeria's dagger pressed to the man's throat, her entire body quivering. "You'll answer my question or you'll be breathing from the new hole I carve in your neck!"

"Valeria – Maker's Breath!" Alistair could not believe what he was seeing. But calling her back to order did nothing, and when he gripped her arm to pull her back, she threw off his touch as violently as if a darkspawn had clutched at her.

Pulling her dagger from Faryn's throat, Valeria thrust the ornate pummel of the plundered sword under the merchant's nose. "This is the crest of House Cousland. And these etchings on the guards show the wielder's branch and place in our family tree. This sword was crafted for one person, and one person only. Now you tell me, _is my brother dead?_"

Oh Maker, it was Fergus's sword. Alistair knew at last why it had elicited such a reaction from her. No amount of reasoning would convince her to let drop the inquiry. It had taken a full day in Lothering to convince her to give up on going back to Ostagar in search of her brother, and only after a shouting match had erupted between her and Morrigan that had almost seen them ejected from the village.

"I… I don't know who he was." Faryn spluttered. "I didn't know that mark. I-"

"_Is he dead?!"_ Valeria was shrieking now, the clearing grew silent as a great many eyes turned to watch them. At the gates to the great city the guards watched intently, hands readied at their axes. In her present mood, Alistair doubted Valeria would spare them if they struck. He'd never seen her lose control like this before. It was unnerving.

"There was a body, yes." Faryn admitted. "Wasn't much left. Dark hair, that's for sure. That mark," his eyes darted down to the sword, "it was on his shield, too, only etched - not embossed from what was left of the thing."

Valeria released him, pressing the sword to her bosom, her eyes wild. For a moment she looked at Alistair – looked _through_ him, rather – and without a word darted from the group and into the forest that hugged the clearing.

"You're certain of what you say?" Wynne spoke up softly, addressing the terrified merchant calmly, trying to sooth the truth from him. "You know for a fact the sword belonged to the body you spoke of?"

"Aye." The man stuttered. "I had to break the fingers to pry the sword free. The shield was in his other-"

"Leave," Alistair hissed so heatedly the man's eyes bulged in fear once more, "before I lose control of myself." This man spoke of robbing Fergus's body with no more remorse or tact than if he had been talking of hunting a rabbit. Valeria's brother lay rotting in a field somewhere and this scoundrel had thought nothing more of it that to mutilate the body further simply to line his pockets with silver.

Faryn required no further convincing. Scooping up whatever goods he could gather up on the first try, the man scurried away and down the mountain path as though wolves were on his heels.

"Go inside." Alistair said to the others as he started in the direction Valeria had fled. "I'll find her."

XXXX

And so after only fifteen minutes of searching, he stood in disbelief, watching as she knelt in upon the frozen forest floor. She sobbed miserably, hugging he brother's sword to her breast. He'd never heard her cry before. He'd seen tears in her eyes on only one occasion; when he bleated his loss of Duncan at her, and she shared the loss of her family in turn. But never had she given voice to her misery, or let those tears spill forth. He knew that she had loved her brother, but to hear her weep so openly jarred him in a way he never expected. Not Valeria… not their heart-strong leader.

His boots crunched through the snow as he walked towards her, but Valeria paid no heed. When at last he drew up behind her, Alistair lowered himself to his haunches, placing a bare hand upon her back. Beneath his touch her body trembled and heaved.

Through her tears, Valeria mumbled something he couldn't make out. Her gasps mutilated the words, turning them into something incoherent.

"Hush now," he whispered, "please. Take a breath and calm yourself." Valeria obeyed with difficulty.

"I failed him," she moaned finally. "I failed him in the worst possible manner."

"You know that you couldn't have gone back to find him," Alistair said gently, "Morrigan… was right. Maker help me, but just this once she was right. You would have died if you had made the attempt. You don't even know that he was alive-" Valeria shook her head fervently.

"His son and wife," she sobbed, "I was to keep them safe; to guard our home while father and Fergus... They died under my protection. I failed him, failed them all, and I never even got the chance to tell him… to beg for his forgiveness… It should have been me. They all did as they should have and they died. I failed and yet I live."

Alistair drew back in shock. She had never told him of her failure; only that her family had been murdered immediately before joining the Wardens. He had heard whispers that Duncan had saved her, but those who had whispered such things died at Ostagar. Ire suddenly bloomed within him. He found himself aggravated at her. How could she be so blind?

"You can't blame yourself," he said in a low, firm voice. "You don't have that right." Valeria turned, green eyes rimmed red and wide.

"I beg your pardon?"

Disbelief in her features was transforming into anger. This time however Alistair would not back down from her.

"You are holding yourself to a separate standard, and I won't have it." He took a breath and reigned in his irritation, reminding himself that she was sick with grief. When it had been him wallowing in self loathing, Valeria had not scolded him. She had been compassionate. He owed her the same gentle touch. Alistair took a breath and moved in closer once more.

"You told me that Duncan's death was not my fault. You reminded me that there was nothing I could have done against an army of darkspawn to save him. Don't you see this is exactly the same? You had guards in Highever, right? Your father would have left some behind for security. You had trained soldiers, left to defend your walls, and still your house fell. What sense does it make to believe you alone should have been able to stand against the onslaught?" The fire left her features, her gaze dropping to the blade now resting in her lap.

"But Duncan was a warrior, not an innocent." She murmured. "And I promised father and Fergus-"

"You promised them you would look after your home, but can you tell me honestly that when binding you to that oath they expected you to single-handedly battle an invading army to save your kin?" Alistair shook his head, silently answering his own question.

"You are an intelligent woman, Valeria." His voice was gentle, soothing. "I can only imagine what sort of stock you came from. I cannot believe such fine people would have been so thoughtless."

Valeria sat watching him silently, tears still falling to her cheeks. Alistair reached out to touch her cheek. "I can't tell you not to cry. I'd be a hypocrite if I did. But don't blame yourself, or else everything you said to me about Duncan's and Cailan's loss would be a lie. And I don't believe it was."

Her head bowed low, and Alistair watched as fat tears continued to splash onto the fine steel blade.

"I… I'm sorry." She whispered at last. "I shouldn't have…" Cupping her face between his hands, Alistair brought her gaze up to his.

"I understand. There's no need for that." Her face twisted in pain, her tears flowing faster despite her attempt to control herself. She could not gain mastery of her emotions just yet.

"It's over. They're all gone now." Her body spasmed with a sob she refused to release. "There's no one left."

Alistair leaned in closer. "There's me."

Valeria's control evaporated and she whimpered. Thin arms encircled his neck holding to him as though at any moment he could vanish from her life as well. Forgetting herself, forgetting the promise of the rejection that would follow, Valeria began to whisper plaintively. "Don't leave me Alistair. Please… I don't ever want to be alone. I can't…"

His eyes burned and he enveloped her in his embrace, cursing his weakness. Maker, why did she have to ask this of him now, when she was so close to breaking? He wasn't strong enough to deny her; not like this. His heart cried out, beseeching him to make her the promise they both wanted sworn.

_No! No you idiot – you can't say that to her! You know you may not be able to keep your word!_

"You're not alone," he croaked instead, drawing her to him even tighter. "I'm here now. I'm with you."

_Don't ask me for more… please…_

He held her in silence, letting her tears soak his neck. She hadn't cried for her family. Not once since they had met. He'd wondered once or twice if such stoic poise signaled that her family hadn't meant as much to her as he thought they should. Now he realized that her silence had been nothing but a self induced poison, one that didn't kill but stole the life from her in a different way; by sickening her soul if not her body. All so that she could hold onto the guise of the perfect Grey Warden, strong and unwavering; above such petty things as fear and despair. Yet it was clear now that she was not the cold, unemotional warrior she wanted everyone to believe her to be. She knew loss, and pain, and regret.

Valeria's breathing evened after a short time, and soon she wasn't clinging to him but simply holding him. Alistair petted her hair methodically and waited, unwilling to rush her. At last she stirred and pulled her face from his warmth.

"Thank you," her whisper sounded calmer, more like her usual composed self.

"There's no need to thank me. I _want_ to be with you." Valeria's hair tickled his cheek as she shook her head.

"No," she drew back to look him in the face. "Thank you for standing up to me even when I wouldn't hear reason. Thank you for being so strong."

Strong? Was she mad?! She had no idea how close he had come to breaking for her. The words had been there, potential lies poised at the tip of his tongue, ready to loose if only to drive off her pain here and now. He reached up to run a thumb over eyelashes that still held to a tear.

Now was not the time. Not when such peril still lay before them. He didn't want to give her cause to worry, or riddle her with even more guilt. For now he would bite his tongue. But someday he would tell her; if they survived the Blight, if they lived to see the archdemon slain.

Someday he hoped to be able to smile, and laugh, and tell Valeria while kissing her soundly that out of all of his weaknesses, _she_ was his greatest.

XXXX


	4. What's In A Soul

**A little something that popped in my head one day and seemed fun to try. Sten's POV of the Wardens' relationship.**

**What's In A Soul?**

(For those who don't know or remember the meanings, I've included a few translations for you.)

_Qunari Translations:_

_Asala – (the) soul. Also the name of Sten's sword._

_Ashkaari - "One who seeks"—refers to scientists, philosophers, or those who have found enlightenment (the Warden is called this for retrieving Asala.)_

_Kadan - Term for something/someone one values highly. Or sometimes the center of the chest. (Literally, "where the heart lies.")_

_Parshaara – Enough._

_Tal'Vashoth - A Qunari who has abandoned the Qun, technical exiles. Traitors._

_Tamassran – a priest/teacher_.

_Vashedan – Crap (Literally rubbish or trash.)_

XXXX

He watched them again, studied them as he would any other puzzle. The Grey Wardens were sitting beside the fire, apart from the others and shielded from sight by the high flames, unless the onlooker was of adequate height. It was not that he wished to join in their social interactions, or that he was interested in what they spoke of. Indeed he failed to see the benefit on most nonessential conversation. It was the concept of their time together that intrigued Sten. He could not fathom it.

She was laughing. She did that often when the pair believed themselves to have some degree of privacy. The foolish one spoke, and she laughed at his words. Then she would speak and he would laugh in turn. And so it went on, the smiling and the laughing and the utter lack of any progress or productivity from their speaking.

And then came the looks they cast upon one another. He would gaze upon her when she took her attention from him for one reason or another. He would look upon her as though he could understand why she was Ashkaari, though Sten knew this was not possible. For the male warden to understand how she was Ashkaari, he would have to understand Asala, and this was not possible for one as dim as he.

She would meet his gaze after a moment, and her expression would then melt into a mirror image of his. She would become as he was, and suddenly Sten would find himself wondering how one as worthy as Ashkaari could shed her common sense so freely and with just a look. She was only human, the Qunari would remind himself. No matter how worthy or intelligent she was, in the end Kadan could not help what she had been born as; could not change who she was.

Though she claimed she could if she chose.

She was a complexity to him. Foolish, impossible ideas combined with a strange infatuation for the company of vashedan, and yet there was honor and wisdom that ran thick within her blood. Before she had returned Asala to him, Sten had often wondered if there was truly a purpose to this journey they were on.

He could believe now, in her. Her vows were never empty, and always backed with action. He could almost – _almost_ – believe her claim to being a woman and a warrior. For on the field of battle she was ferocious.

And here, sitting beside the fire, gazing up upon her fellow warden as so many human women looked upon human men; there was no denying that she believed herself to be just what she claimed: a woman, in every sense of the word.

Kadan laughed, again, the sound perplexing Sten. This time the male warden did not look amused; rather the man was watching the Qunari as intently as Sten watched them. The hint of a frown twisted the man's face; he did not like being watched when he spoke privately with her. Her thin fingers trailed absently along his cheek and she stood, smiling, and walked casually over to Sten.

Most humans of her size were reluctant to stand too near to a Qunari male. The size difference intimidated. Yet the female warden seemed to hold no such reluctance, and stood before him, her neck craned back to gaze into his face.

"Is everything alright?" She asked with a smile. She always smiled after spending time with her counterpart. Sten watched her carefully for a moment, deciding.

"Your relationship with him perplexes me." He stated without clarifying. She would ask if she cared. And she asked constantly. Sometimes the sheer effort it took to answer her questions to her satisfaction was exhausting. Many times during their first days together, it had taken quite a bit of restraint to keep himself from breaking her jaw simply to silence her questions.

"Do tell." She cocked her head to the side. Sten was more tolerant of her queries now than he had been. Often times she took his responses to heart – tried to learn from him. Sten would not deny her pursuit of growth. The prod for an explanation rose no rankle within him.

"He claims to be a warrior as you do. This would make you brothers in arms." He let go the ongoing argument of her questionable status as a woman – _that_ argument had been known to go on for hours. "And yet you do not act as brothers, but as a mated pair." She grimaced.

"Mated," she said as though the word was sour upon her tongue. "It sounds so feral."

"You would give it a prettier name, yet it would not change what it was." At this she shrugged her agreement. "To be brothers in arms and mates at the same time is not possible."

Kadan eye him mischievously, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Careful Sten, the night isn't young and this topic could stretch on for days." Sten growled low.

"I see your point."

She took a breath, her gaze thoughtful. "Alistair is…" she mulled over her choice of words, "very special to me. He is most certainly not a brother, though I care for him deeply."

"You wish to be his mate?" Sten asked, searching for the right word, "his… wife?"

The female warden's eyes grew large, clearly not expecting that questions. She licked her lips, casting a nervous glance over her shoulder towards the man she had left beside the fire.

"Warriors marry," Sten went on, not waiting for the answer she seemed so reluctant to give, "but not each other."

"If the day ever came," Kadan said slowly, "where Alistair asked me to be his wife, I would gladly lay down my blades to honor his request."

Sten frowned. This was not an acceptable answer from her.

"A warrior cannot cease to be a warrior. They would become Tal'Vashoth if they tried. You could never be Tal'Vashoth." He stated the fact as though point out water could never be dry; the idea seemed that impossible to him. This little human was too honorable to become a traitor to her lot.

She appraised Sten for a moment, carefully deciding upon her next words.

"If you had to make a great sacrifice for the sake of your sword – your soul – would you?"

"That is not the same." He argued, and to his dismay, a small smile played at her lips.

"Yes it is." She said softly. "These," she reached back to touch the hilts behind her shoulders, "are not my Asala. That," her arm swung around, pointing to the man who sat alone beside the fire, "is my Asala. Before him I wandered the world in darkness, not knowing my purpose or path. With him I now know my place in this world. It is at his side, and for the time being, that means in battle. Perhaps someday I will be permitted a more permanent role in his life."

The Qunari glowered down at her, frustrated with her seeming lack of logic or reasoning. As he opened his mouth to argue again, something different darkened her eyes; something akin to pain.

"I would never try to convince you that the sword at your back was anything but your Asala." She said quietly. "Tell me, Sten, would you try to deny me mine?"

Heavy jaws clicked together. In this she had raised a fair argument… for once. He was no Tamassran. It was not his place to tell her that she was mistaken in her assumption.

"Parshaara." He grumbled. "I hope for your sake you are right. It is a terrible thing to go through life and never know your own soul." Kadan nodded soberly.

"I agree." She said, watching him for another silent moment. Without another word, only a small smile, she returned to the fire and the vash – _Alistair's_ – side.

Sten did not approve of him, but _if_ the human man was Kadan's soul as she claimed, Sten would make an attempt at civility whenever possible. She was entitled to at least that much.

The male warden's eyes lit brightly when she lowered herself to sit beside him once more, her shoulder and leg pressing against his as she settled down and listened while he spoke again.

Though he was not tired, Sten turned and strode purposefully to his tent.

Kadan's Asala did not like to be watched while they conversed, after all.

And Sten was done making observations for the night.

XXXX

**Sten's not my favorite, character. Actually he's probably my least favorite, playable character (with the exception of Loghain – that is if I ever tried to recruit him, which I WON'T!) BUT – Sten is an excellent point of contrast for my Valeria and who I portray her to be. I couldn't help but constantly butt heads with him in my game. And in this story I wanted to try something new – like explore a character I normally wouldn't. Don't fret, my pets – more fan-girl squealing, smut-loving goodness is in the works. ;o)**


	5. Losing The Battle

**Losing the Battle…**

The man was chattering Valeria's ear off about a lost sandwich at the other stall. She took it in stride, of course. The poor fellow was Lyrium-touched. He could not help what he had become – and it could have been worse. She listened to him describe the vile concoction patiently and then asked him to show her the magnificent dagger that had bedazzled her thoughts since she had first noticed it weeks ago. After first spying the enchanted weapon, she had counted out the coins in her purse once and then again, making certain there would be enough to buy the dagger and still leave money for purchasing armor or weapons for the others. To compensate the cost she had been venturing into the deep roads for plundered goods before at last selling her spare daggers and an expensive ruby pendant she had not donned since receiving her Warden's Oath. The loss of the bauble had Morrigan looking almost forlorn, though the apostate had said nothing. The trinket had been kept specifically for the purpose of hawking, Valeria had said.

Alistair glanced back to the displays before him at the neighboring stall. He had always felt shopping to be tedious, and had been grateful when Valeria and Leliana had taken over the task of acquiring new supplies for their group. Yet this day as he had been waiting impatiently for the women to finish their haggling, there had been something at one of the shops in Orzammar's commons that had caught his attention.

"It's lovely, isn't it?" The dwarf woman behind the display stands spoke when his eyes lingered on the item in her wares. "My father pulled the stone from the mines himself. My husband cut it to perfection. It's not the largest, but you'll not find a match to this quality in all the city, I'd wager. I could let it go for fifteen sovereign."

Nestled against a display board covered in dark velvet, a band of gold braided against a band of platinum, forming a lovely contrast. Crowning the ring was a diamond, dazzling even in the dim underground light. Alistair glanced up, finding Valeria still engaged in the details of purchasing the dagger and a pair of defensive gloves for Zevran in with the price.

"Ah, so that's her, is it?" The woman behind the counter smiled broadly. "Your kind use rings for this, I recall. It'll be a betrothal gift then?"

"What? Ah, no." Alistair pulled his attention back to the vendor. "No, I'm just looking."

The woman's broad smile dimmed slightly. "Oh, I see. Well if you change your mind I'll be here."

Alistair glanced longingly down at the piece of jewelry once more. The ring had seemingly been crafted for the sole purpose of taking a bride. The braided bands could signal the twinning of two lives, and the diamond the purity of their love.

He wondered how the ring would have looked upon Valeria's finger. How would she have reacted?

Maker, he wanted more than anything to slide this ring onto her finger. In another life he would have, he knew. There would have been no hesitating were they not what they were.

"Here now," the vendor returned, her voice softer. "Don't look like that." She sighed and pursed her lips, glancing down the row to Valeria once more.

"You're those Grey Wardens, right? The pair of you?" Alistair nodded. "So…" the woman's eyes flickered to the pathway beyond Valeria, "so that means… you'll be back someday?" He caught her question. The dwarves were quite familiar with the customary final battle of a Grey Warden.

"If we survive the Blight, I suppose. Yes." Alistair didn't want to think of that. It was morbid to dwell on one's predetermined suicide, let alone to contemplate the eventual suicide of his beloved.

"And you're the ones that are going to seek out the Paragon?"

"We're going to try."

The vendor sighed once more, her lips tightening in their pucker as she thought hard.

"You love her?"

Alistair frowned. "Branka? I've never even met her." At this the dwarf woman chuckled.

"Your companion," she said with a nod in Valeria's direction. "You love her, right?"

Alistair felt his cheeks grow hot. "I- well… she is…" his voice cracked like a lad on the verge of manhood. He cleared his throat. "I can't ask for her hand. Not until this is over. We have a duty to something larger than ourselves." The woman shook her head.

"The Blight won't last forever." She said, as if she had some hidden insight of the future. She appraised Alistair for another awkward moment, causing the large man to shift uncomfortably in his armor.

"Mother would have had the skin whipped from my back," she grumbled. "Five sovereign. And when you come back for your final battle, if I'm still here, you sell the ring back to me for the same price or less, depending on its condition."

Alistair peered down at the ring. He could buy it and not tell her. It didn't mean anything until he slipped the ring on her finger and said the words. Until then, it was just a ring; the most beautiful ring he'd ever seen.

Completely meaningless, he assured himself.

"And if… if I can't make it back to sell it to you?"

The woman should have frowned, or taken back her offer. Instead, she looked down her nose at him, despite having to crane her head up to peer at him in such a way.

"I'm a betting woman, Warden," she said planting a cocky hand on her hip, "and I'm good at what I do. It's how I got this stall right off of the Diamond Quarter." She jerked her chin at Alistair. "You'll be back. The loss of that ring if I'm wrong."

Hesitantly, Alistair reached down and touched the coin purse at his hip – feeling the weight of his share of the party's funds. Valeria had insisted on everyone carrying at least a few sovereign for when they were forced to separate. "Five sovereign?"

The woman nodded.

"Why?"

The vendor chuckled. "Why what? Why the deal?" Alistair nodded. "Maybe it's incentive for you to find the Paragon and bring her back. Maybe it's because I can't pass up a bet when my guts tell me I'll win. Or maybe it's because I can't stand to see a grown man wear the look of a boy whose pet nug was just run down. The reason is my affair. You only need to accept or refuse the offer."

Alistair absently gave his coin pouch a squeeze as he thought a few more moments before finally producing the coins. "If she takes this ring, you won't get it back. I'll bring you the other ten sovereign instead."

The vendor smiled and, wrapping the ring in a small square of white satin cloth, handed the precious bundle into nervous metal-clad fingers. "Ten more sovereign," she said severely, "if not the ring."

"I-" Alistair swallowed hard, tucking his purchase discreetly into his coin pouch. "Thank you."

"Here now," the dwarf merchant said in a loud, sharp voice that startled him, the mirth dissipated from her face, "you're blocking the way for my paying customers. Off with you now!" From the stall beside them, Valeria's gaze rose, and she frowned at the dwarf woman waiving off Alistair insolently.

Alistair backed away from the stall, leaving room for a portly old woman to take his place before the vendor. He ambled back over to Valeria, trying his best not to look like he was guilty of hiding something from her. Valeria watched him carefully, drawing a nervous sweat to his brow.

"Is something wrong?" She asked, her attention turned from the magnificent dagger she now held.

"What? No." Alistair blurted in a rush. "Why would you think that?" Valeria's frown deepened.

"You're sweating." It was more an accusation than an observance.

"Ah. Well. Yes. Now that you mention it-" Behind the female warden, Leliana smiled coyly.

"She's still watching you, Alistair," the bard said suggestively, nodding to the vendor. Alistair turned to see the dwarf woman peering at him from the corner of her eyes, a small smile on her lips. "I think perhaps she fancies you."

Alistair's mind stumbled over their friend's misinterpretation, watching as Valeria's frown became a scowl.

"Is that it?" The rogue demanded quietly. Alistair decided to play it off without lying outright. He was terrible at lying directly to her anyway.

"Look, I'd rather just leave it alone, if you don't mind. It's over and no harm done. Are you finished here?" He gestured to the blade in her hand. "Can we go now?"

Valeria's eyes flashed. "Just a moment." She said and slid her free hand behind his neck, pulling him down to kiss him thoroughly. It caught Alistair completely off guard – he had half expected to find himself suspect in her eyes.

Until the reason behind her actions opened fully to his mind; and then he couldn't help but to smile against her lips. Valeria ended the kiss after a few more moments.

"Now we can go." She announced.

Alistair watched her for a moment. "You're jealous."

Valeria scowled. "Excuse me?"

"You're jealous of the merchant woman."

"I most certainly am not!"

"Really? Than what was that all about just now?" Alistair failed to hide the taunting grin on his lips.

"You're being ridiculous." She scoffed, spinning from him towards the path to the deep roads, intent on heading straight into battle and out of this current line of questioning.

She _had_ been jealous. It was utterly preposterous. Andraste herself would not hold half of the appeal Valeria held in his eyes. His grin quickly faded with the novelty of the moment, though, when the reality of what he had done began to sink in. The coin pouch seemed to grow heavier against his hip as they walked, and Alistair hid the bag beneath his belt to quell his nerves.

It was just a ring. Just a pretty piece of metal and stone. Beyond the work it would take to replace the coin he had used to acquire it, the ring meant nothing.

Nothing to anyone but Alistair. It was the first crack in his armor; the first real sign that his resolve was faltering. Soon he would not be able to resist the urge anymore, and all of his wisdom and common sense would fail him.

And after the events following the discovery of Fergus's sword those weeks past, Alistair already knew that Valeria would not save them and refuse. She would accept the ring and his proposal, and play her part in damning them both to living only for themselves.

Although he should be alarmed that he and his beloved were so close to acting so selfishly, Alistair's heart swelled at the answer he already knew he would receive should he ask.

With a private, self deprecating smile, Alistair suddenly understood the dwarf hawker's motives just a little bit more.

It seemed he, too, could not resist a wager he already knew he would win.

XXXX

**If Alistair was REALLY so dead set on avoiding a commitment with Valeria (Cousland) during their romance, given his personality, why does he stay with her? My point exactly… Alistair TOTALLY wants to be with her forever, he just can't admit it out loud. I find it easy to believe he had moments like this during the game which the female warden (and we as her player) were not privy to. Then he could go back to his public bluster about no plans and no promises, blah, blah, blah. **


	6. The Finer Brew

**The Finer Brew**

She was drinking tonight; ale with Oghren. The dwarf had broken the wax seal of one of his finer brews. He always considered the rare nights when Valeria agreed to drink with him a special occasion; though it could also be said that Oghren was always looking for a 'special occasion' of any kind in which he could show off his craft. Even Alistair, who imbibed infrequently, but still more often than his female counterpart, was granted one of the finer brews when he chose to have a mug or two.

Yet when she drank… Alistair felt his jaw clench in aggravation at the direction the conversation was taking at the other side of the campfire. He was certain that if the woman's mother were alive to hear her daughter speak when drunk, the Teryna would have had Valeria sucking bitterroot until her lips were too puckered even to whistle.

Valeria did not swear. She did not lie. Rather she taunted, and spoke such scandalous flirtations Alistair felt his ears burn with jealousy. Thank the Maker she was all bluster. The first time she had ever drank in his company, Alistair had barely kept himself from beating Zevran to a bloody carcass when Valeria had agreed dumbly to his offer for an intimate massage and then could not understand why the elf was trying to touch her. The blunder had cost her almost two days of silence from her lover, until Leliana had stepped in and pronounced Alistair a judgmental fool who could not tell the difference between debauchery and a woman who simply could not hold her ale.

Tonight would prove to be no different. Even now he could hear her – for Valeria had not enough sense when drunk to speak such outrageous things quietly. Oghren had made a comment on the passion of a dwarf, to which she had replied that she was certain he was man enough to teach her. The shorter man had roared with laughter, uttering something that sounded like 'asschabs' during his revelry before falling over in his hysterics.

Alistair's teeth gritted and he walked slowly around the fire, gazing down into unfocused green eyes that sat atop a lopsided smile. He held his tongue; tried to remember how inept she was at drinking.

"And there he is," she said, clapping her hands together with girlish delight, "my hero; my inspiration; my beloved. Welcome to our branch, darling. Won't you join us for a spell?" Each word bled into the next, and was poorly articulated; and her posture currently portrayed her more as a tavern dweller than the Teryna she would have been.

"Yer inviting Alistair to our party?" Oghren grimaced, righting himself with difficulty.

"Of course! There is always room for Alistair." Adoration painted her features, slightly ebbing her lover's frustration. It was difficult to be angry with her when she looked at him with such devotion, even in this state.

Oghren began laughing a depraved sound, one that told Alistair the dwarf had taken her words in an inappropriate context.

"Unbelievable." The Grey Warden seethed. "Is that all you ever bloody think of?" Valeria stared dumbly up at the templar.

"What? What am I thinking of?" She asked.

"I meant him," Alistair thrust a finger towards the dwarf.

"I wasn't thinking of Oghren," Valeria blinked. "Was I?" Alistair sighed. It was like playing word games with someone plagued by senility.

"Never mind." He mumbled. "It doesn't matter."

"Fine. Have a seat, Alistair," Oghren chortled and passed the bottle to his drinking partner and reached for his pack to fish out another mug, "if she says there's room for you, who am I to argue?"

"There is!" Valeria grinned and held the bottle up to Alistair invitingly. Alistair shook his head at the offer and she immediately gave up, taking a great gulp from the bottle directly, seemingly forgetting her own half-full tankard at her side.

Another bottle rolled from the dwarf's pack as he fumbled along, and rather than replace it, the berserker pried the seal loose with his teeth, intent on continuing the drinking late into the night. If Alistair did not put a stop to her celebrating, Valeria would be heaving into a bush as she had the last time they had opened more than one bottle. He reached a hand down to her invitingly. "It's late. I think sleep is in order."

Valeria gazed up critically passed Alistair's head at the moon, as if trying to judge its position in the sky. At last she nodded gravely and accepted his outstretched hand rising to her feet. "Oghren, my thanks for your hospitality. It is always a pleasure." She announced formally, which sounded ludicrous when spoken through such a thick slur. The dwarf stared up at her dumbly, his newly opened prize forgotten.

"How in the stone can you stand up on those _things_?" His eyes dropped down to her legs in amazement. "It's like they're pushing you up into the sky; like they're trying to push you off of the world! Alistair, what do you _do_ with them?"

Alistair had heard this question from the berserker before, of course. It seemed to be an endless fascination for the dwarf; and Alistair had thus far been fairly adept at ignoring the brutish query.

Valeria smiled in wolfish delight. "Wouldn't _you_ love to find out," she murmured, nearly toppling backward when Alistair gave her a gentle tug towards the tent. At her stumble, Alistair pressed her close to him, balancing the unsteady woman against his side while she tried to independently maintain her footing; all the while Alistair continued pulling her away from the spectacle she and her drinking partner were creating.

"Alright, enough talking. Off to bed with you."

Behind them Oghren roared in laughter once more. "Good man!" He bellowed. "You tell that woman where her place is! And when you're riding-"

"Andraste's flaming sword!" Alistair swore loudly, casting a furious look over his shoulder, "would you, for the love of your bloody stone, please shut up?" He was all but carrying the inebriated female warden to her tent, and the dwarf was treated the whole thing like this was a prelude to a night of passion. The dwarf's laughter at his back was taunting in its lasciviousness. Alistair could feel the eyes of the others upon he and Valeria, and his face burned as much for her as it did for him.

He had resisted the urge to carry his beloved back to her tent, knowing it would only add to her humiliation when she awoke the next morning. Beneath his arm, Valeria giggled.

"You're so serious when I drink," she teased, walking clumsy fingers up his breastplate to flick at his nose. Alistair frowned and pulled her hand away.

"I'm not any more serious than usual," he defended. "You're just…" he decided to sugar-coat his words in case she remembered this talk in the morning, "less restrained."

"Really?" Her head wobbled up to peer into his eyes blearily. "So if I asked you to take me to bed and make me-"

"Valeria!" Alistair's face and ears burned hot; she still had not sense enough to lower her voice and a short distance off Wynne murmured a quiet "oh my" at the female warden's audacity. "Absolutely not. Forget it." Alistair replied firmly before Valeria could try to ask again.

"Prude." She snorted.

"I consider it being a gentleman." He corrected, reaching down to hold the tent flap open for her. His eyes drifted down to his tent, still in its traveling roll lying on the ground beside Valeria's accommodations. He thought about setting it up and sleeping there tonight – it would be the first time since their first night together. The idea didn't appeal to him, but he had no intentions of letting Valeria try to seduce him while she was so intoxicated. It would mortify her in the morning, and he refused to play a part in her self-destruction.

Yet when he glanced down in her tent he suddenly found the whole idea pointless. Valeria had dropped off, only half positioned on the bedroll and still fully clothed.

"Maker's breath," he muttered, casting a vicious glare towards Oghren's tent. He was going to skin the berserker tomorrow, but only after the dwarf's hang-over had taken its turn first.

With a rueful sigh, Alistair climbed into the tent and began stripping Valeria of her armor, replacing it with one of his white undershirts to act as night clothes before donning one himself.

Tomorrow morning she would awake groggy and ill from tonight's antics. She would undoubtedly remember at least a few of her inappropriate outbursts and would probably spend most of the day with her face stained a humiliated scarlet. She would swear off drinking - again.

But tonight… tonight Alistair would push pieces of cotton batting into his ears. Because tonight Valeria was fall-down drunk, which meant that tonight her snoring would rival the roar of the archdemon itself.

Alistair groaned. When Valeria swore off drinking tomorrow he'd hold her to it this time.

XXXX

**Poor Valeria – she hasn't found her cut-off point yet. LOL! Oghren is always pushing his booze on others, why shouldn't the Warden have a night or two of drunken foolery? Just an idea I had once upon a time.**


	7. A Shield Unlike Any Other

**A Shield Unlike Any Other**

To Alistair it seemed as though time itself had become mired in mud. The world moved slowly, revealing every detail in perfect clarity, and giving him ample opportunity to experience the magnitude of the doom that was crashing down upon him.

He could see nothing but teeth and the blackness of what must have been the creature's throat; the enormous head before him blotted out everything else from view. It was happening too quickly to dodge. Alistair was confident this was the moment he would die; purple flames were already crackling around what had earlier been thin human lips. He found just a second to think bitterly that it would please Morrigan to no end to know the quest they performed on her behalf was the one that would bring his death. Two birds with one stone, she would probably quote him mockingly, for all the times he had gloated before kissing Valeria in front of the apostate.

Unexpectedly a sudden weight had pushed down upon him nearly knocking him to the ground, and when he looked up he briefly made out the soles of leather boots as they pushed off of his shoulders and past his face; and a streak the armored body beyond. It was Valeria, vaulting over him as though he were some minor obstacle in her path and not a man; her daggers both gripped in one hand as she sailed through the air. With her free arm extended out before her, she grabbed on to one of the boney spires that topped the draconic head, swinging herself nimbly to perch behind Flemeth's transformed skull.

The Rose's Thorn was the first to plunge into the abomination's brain, blade squealing against skull shrilly, reddish-purple blood spewing forth from the wound. Flemeth roared wildly, and Valeria impaled her newly enchanted dragonbone dagger beside the first, wrenching her main blade free in order to drive it home once more. The monstrous head swung madly, trying in futile effort to shake the Grey Warden loose. Pale thighs locked onto the serpentine neck, making Valeria nearly impossible to dislodge. Purple flames plumed from the beast's great mouth, and Alistair had to fling himself away to avoid the searing tongues. From the angle where he stood, it seemed almost that Valeria sat squarely in the middle of those flames; her pyre that of scales and blood instead of wood and oil. Yet she continued to drive her daggers into the shape shifter's head again and again without thought for the flames or the great raking claws that reached for her. The witch's attempts at prying loose her assailant were thwarted by the very length of her neck. From behind him, Alistair heard Oghren laughing maniacally, his berserker's madness endlessly amused by the struggle before them.

One twisting blade entered just above the reptilian left eye, the second more conventional dagger at the base of the skull; and with a final whine that sounded almost canine, Flemeth's colossal form crashed to the ground.

Valeria hit the matted grass rolling and was on her feet immediately; blades at the ready should the dragon rise again, watching and waiting for signs of life. Yet the old witch was as still as death. Despite a slight smile of confidence, Valeria moved cautiously towards their fallen foe to retrieve the key that had been fasted to the shape shifter's neck on a cord of rough twine.

"This should do it," she gave the key a quick jerk, pulling it free of its bindings. "Done and done!" Without so much as a backward glance to her companions, Valeria entered the hut and returned only moments later with a burlap sack filled with more than just the book they had been sent like errand boys to retrieve. Spoils of war no doubt, Alistair thought while seething; gifts for the wretch who had placed their lives in danger for her own personal gain.

"I gotta say, Warden," Oghren grunted, "if that hadn't been such a fancy maneuver you pulled there, I'd have sworn you had what it took to be a berserker." Pearly white teeth grinned from behind a gory purple-red mask and Valeria voiced her thanks at the dwarf's attempt at a real compliment.

Alistair felt his blood boil. Did no one see what had just happened? Did not one understand?

"Now just hold on one minute," he spluttered, his armored hand flailing about, "that was… impossibly… I can't… how could you be so stupid?" He felt his cheeks burn hot with rage. His body was practically quaking with the anger that rushed in to take the place of a battle's adrenaline.

Valeria's smile withered. "Excuse me?" Her words were slow, disbelieving.

"Foolish!" He ranted furiously. "Suicidal! You threw yourself at the mouth of a dragon. And not just any dragon – but a shape-shifting-abomination-dragon! A Witch of the Wilds Dragon! I cannot bel-"

"I beg your pardon," the rogue woman exclaimed, dropping her bag of pilfered loot to the ground at her feet, "but I didn't know you would be so upset at not becoming something Flemeth would have been picking from her teeth for days!" Alistair wave his hands before his face, trying to block out her words just long enough for his mind to form one coherent thought. She was a lunatic! She had thrown herself at the most powerful foe they had faced yet without care. If it had been in defense of Ferelden, or innocent people, perhaps – and only if they were out of options. But for _Morrigan_?

"It's bad enough we risked ourselves to help that… that… that evil_ bitch_," his arms flailed behind him, in the direction of their camp and the apostate who waited for news of her mother's defeat, "but then you had to launch yourself at that monster like… like…" Alistair stumbled over his words, his tongue unable to keep up with the tirade within his head. "Andraste's Flaming Sword, woman," he berated, "were you _trying_ to get yourself killed?" Silence reigned in the clearing; not even the dwarf broke it beyond a low harrumph that Alistair couldn't translate in his current state of agitation.

"I don't know." Valeria at last replied quietly, planting a hand upon her hip as she eyed him coolly. "Probably no more than you, I would think."

"I… _what_?" More than anything he wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake some common sense back into. Damn her for treating this so casually! Did she not realize she came so close to death? Where was her reason – the cunning wit that he had grown to admire almost as much as her open heart? Had Morrigan spelled her; forced her to perform this task?

If the apostate had used Valeria against her will… Alistair's grip found his sword. He didn't care how useful the witch was; he would end her existence. No need for her to worry about Flemeth again, or anything else for that matter. He was templar trained. He could dispatch her easily.

The female warden was instantly upon him, all purpose and smoldering anger. Most men would have withered and retreated a few steps under that gaze, as many had before. But Alistair's ire steeled his spine, and he stood his ground – too far into his rage to consider her unspoken warning. Somewhere closer to the hut he heard Wynne say something quietly, to which Oghren replied loudly that he wasn't going anywhere. From the corner of his eye Alistair glimpsed red robes retreating to the far side of the hut – Wynne exercising some tact, no doubt.

In a single fluid motion that had to be reflex for her by now, Valeria unsheathed her main dagger and jabbed at the flank of his armor with the pommel; the striking metal ringing loudly in the silence. The male warden did not as much as flinch.

"How is your chest, Alistair?" She demanded. "Wynne's healing stitched it up nicely, hmm? Remind me again how you broke three of your ribs and punctured your lung?"

"A darkspawn mace will do that, you know." He growled in response. Of course fighting darkspawn was dangerous – if it wasn't then children would be stomping out the Blight as they would play at Feast Day games. But it was also necessary, unlike what had happened here. It was their duty to face the darkspawn.

"And why was that genlock able to get off such an attack while standing right in front of you?" She pressed, more in accusation than question. "Perhaps because you were so busy protecting me that you forgot to watch yourself – just as you were doing again here with Flemeth?

"Forget for a moment the _how_, and just tell me _how many_ such injuries have you taken for me?" She went on without pause for response. "A dozen? Two? More? So you're allowed to defend me at the cost of your well being, but I can't save you?" Her beloved Rose's Thorn slipped from her grip, its blade sinking into the soft soil. Slender fingers gripped the front of his armor, and she pulled him mercilessly close.

"So I finally stopped you from 'protecting' me, as I should have earlier. And I'll do it again, as many times as it takes to keep you from skewering yourself on another enemy blade in my name. Then maybe next time I'll be the one bleeding out all over my bedroll instead of you, or howling in agony as you set my broken bones. Maybe next time you'll be the one working through the night – the battlefield healer making certain I survive to see the sunrise – as I have done for you. And maybe then you'll see just how 'lucky' it feels to have the one you love act as a human shield for you. Would you like that, Alistair?"

The rage abandoned him, cruelly, leaving a wide berth for guilt to take its place. It happened slowly, and he tried to contest her argument as her words settled into his mind.

She was wrong about his protecting her; though he knew that she wasn't.

She had overacted to his aid; though he could not imagine having handled it better.

She was exaggerating about the injuries he had taken; though the scars on his body said differently.

No. She wasn't mad, or spell possessed. It was worse; so much worse.

She was compensating for his mistakes; throwing herself into greater danger to protect him from his own misguided chivalry. He suddenly felt very small and petty. Her reasons may be just as misguided as his, but how could he condemn her actions when he shared the same fault?

"I… no… of course not." With a deep, shuddering breath, Alistair fought against his instincts and maintained contact with those penetrating green eyes. "I just… can't understand why you risked so much for Morrigan today."

"Because she is my friend, Alistair," Valeria hissed. "What is so bloody hard for you two to accept about my feelings? I love you; I care for her. You two can squabble and hate each other to your dying breaths; I won't ask you to be nice, or even civil, to one another. But never ask me to abandon the other. I abandon _no one_.

"And as for my scene with Flemeth – that was not about Morrigan. That was about _you_. Stupid man, you almost got yourself killed trying to be my shield again. Maker's Mercy, Alistair – _is that what you're after? _"

"No! No no no, not at all!" He denied vehemently before sighing, his shoulders sagging in defeat. "I…I'm sorry I made you worry so much."

"You didn't worry me, Alistair," she said quietly, "you scared the bloody life out of me."

"I know, I know." He shook his head sadly. "It's just… I meant what I said that night at camp. I can't imagine being without you – not ever. And… when it seems like I could lose you, I…"

"And if I lose you?" She asked, though the fire in her stare and words was dwindling fast. "If we keep trying to take the killing blows for one another, pretty soon one of us is going to succeed. And then what? Where does that leave the one left behind? More importantly, where does that leave Ferelden?"

Alistair snorted. "Leave it to you to go and ruin a perfectly good lover's quarrel by being sensible." For a moment Valeria stood wide-eyed and mute, before finally a smile spread slowly across her face. She appeared almost giddy, and Alistair started to wonder at her stability again.

"This _is_ our first lover's quarrel, isn't it?" She asked after a moment, a little wondrous. "Not like when I snap at you for stealing the covers, or you at me for gossiping about scandalous topics with Leliana. And this isn't one of us pouting silently. This is our first _real_ fight."

Alistair smirked at her words; she may be a Grey Warden, but buried beneath the armor and fighting spirit there was a young woman who could get drunk on the fancies of love as easily as the next. The templar found he was unable to resist the invitation for deflection, something he was not often able to use with his quick-witted little rogue. "You know how they say real fights usually end, don't you?" He said suggestively. Valeria's eyebrow arched. _Damn. Deflection failed._

"But this fight isn't over yet Alistair," she said, the severity returning to her face. It was easy for her to pull on a mask of another emotion. Leliana's schooling had taught her well; though Alistair was becoming more and more adept at seeing when it was just an act. He could see in her eyes that she no longer felt as stern as her demenor played out. "And it won't be until you agree to stop being such a fool." There was no teasing in her words; no word play. She may not wish to fight anymore, but that didn't mean that she wasn't serious.

"Well that's a pretty broad demand," Alistair quipped, a litter bitter at being called a fool by her. Others' insults he could take. But she never mocked his intelligence; it was a little harsh coming from her. "Care to narrow it down a bit? Otherwise we could be here until the next Blight comes."

Valeria's face screwed up in budding irritation.

"Alright, alright!" He tossed up his hands in surrender. "No more treating you like a damsel in distress. You're a powerful warrior and I concede that you can preserve your own skin. I hereby do swear to leave off with throwing myself before every blade, arrow, spell and bludgeon aimed at your skull, except in cases where you are clearly incapacitated or completely preoccupied, or until such time as you give me cause to believe you are no longer capable of protecting yourself. Acceptable?" It took only a second for Valeria to smile in relief; though Alistair did not echo the sentiment.

"There," she breathed, "was that so hard?"

"Excruciating," he muttered sullenly, "you made me use all sorts of big words." She gave a low laugh at his sulk and stepped into him, no longer threatening, but intimate.

"I'm sorry I insulted you. Just tell me where to kiss it and make it better," she murmured. With the offer spoken, all traces of gloom retreated from his mind immediately. Blast the woman and her uncanny ability to turn his insides to jelly! She knew what sort of power she had over him – he was becoming more and more convinced of this. His head dipped slightly, his lips barely brushing hers.

"I can think of a few places that could use a little treatment," he replied, unable to keep the insinuations at bay.

A lecherous laugh reverberated from over Valeria's shoulder – Oghren muttering vulgarities he felt Alistair needed to suggest. Slender arms snaked around the back of the templar's neck.

"First, we skin the dwarf," Valeria purred again Alistair's lower lip, "then we end our first quarrel right." Alistair chuckled – Maker, he adored this woman!

"My dear, you read my mind."

XXXX

**Hm. Okay. I have to say that while it's better than the two drafts that came before it, I feel like this chapter is a little choppy. But to be honest, I've kind of worked it to death. I think at this point my lack of total satisfaction with the chapter comes more from the frustration I was feeling (particularly with the end - which was changed multiple times) and less from the actual finished product.**

**The whole idea for this started from the first time I played my game. My rogue was on the weaker side (I was mainly buffing her cunning and dexterity) and so I used my tank - Alistair - to kind of take the edge off the attacks she was receiving by drawing my rogue's attackers to him. The thing was, Alistair kept dying. Go figure. ****I started to think I could use this as a plot line. And viola!**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. More to come!**


	8. Oh, and By The Way

"**Oh, And By The Way…"**

She held her tongue patiently, ready for the completion of his latest joke, an expectant smile still splayed across her lips. Yet as she waited, he didn't continue speaking. He simply stood before her, watching her as she watched him. There was no twinkle in his eyes, but then it could be a new way of teasing – he was developing those every day.

"So," she finally broke the silence, deciding to allow him to draw her in, intrigued by what he had waiting, "you're not only a bastard, but a royal bastard?" Her grin widened, waiting for him to rebuke her taunt.

His answer came with a half-hearted chuckle, "I never thought of it that way. I'll have to use that line next time." But the anticipation did not leave his expression, nor did his jaw relax.

And there it was – like a cold stone that dropped to the pit of her stomach: the realization that he wasn't playing games with her. He was telling her the truth. All mirth melted from her expression without her knowledge; incredulity washing over her features unchecked.

_Maker's Mercy - he's not joking. He really is a prince!_

When she failed to speak, he began nervously explaining why he had never told her – how everyone including Duncan had treated him differently – and subtle hints confirming his story came to mind. Perhaps that was why Alistair had been sent to the tower in Ostagar with her. It could have been to protect the pair of them. If the worst happened, Alistair was the last of the royal bloodline; as she could have been the last of her family to take the role of Teryna. Perhaps Duncan had begun to doubt his decisions to recruit the final hope for two such important lineages.

Alistair's upbringing further confirmed his admission. For what better place to keep a royal bastard than in the house of a loyal underling – in this case a trustworthy Arl; one who would keep the secret even at the expense of his own reputation. It was how these things were handled in the world she had come from; a world of politics and secrets.

But none of that diminished the fact that Alistair had kept this from her. Through Lothering and the Circle; through Orzammar and the battle with Flemeth. After bedding her more times than she could recall immediately, he had never once tried to entrust her with his secret. He'd never even hinted at it. She'd opened her heart and soul and failures and fears for him him like a penitent sinner, and he'd sat on a secret that could not only alter their futures, but all of Ferelden's!

Her temper flared. Childish as her initial reaction may have been, she wanted to lash out at him none the less; to hurt him as he had just hurt her. But as her thoughts churned, looking for the perfect words that would cut him to the quick, her over-eager mind stumbled upon a thought that halted all others. Fear took the anger's place.

_Real_ fear.

"Does Loghain know?" She whispered. She had known all along that Loghain was hunting down Wardens and while it was a hazard to be certain, it was never her prime concern. The Blight took precedence above all else. But now she had to wonder, did the traitor know _which_ Wardens he hunted? Did he know – despite Alistair's assurances that he wanted no part of being king – that there was a real and legitimate threat to his tenuous claim on the throne walking the highways of Ferelden?

"Why wouldn't he?" Alistair grumbled. "He was Maric's closest friend." He might as well have added 'What does it matter?' for all the concern he displayed.

And Valeria wished instantly that she had attempted a little more discretion through their travels. So many that they had encountered knew Alistair's name; had seen his face. If just one of their accounts reached Loghain…

"I… I think I understand." She whispered weakly when Alistair apologized again after another uneasy silence. She didn't truly understand why he had kept it from her, or why he felt the need to tell her now, for apparently no reason. But none of that mattered anymore.

All that mattered was protecting him.

"You do?" Alistair sighed and smiled brightly. "I'm so glad." His head tilted quizzically, his smile fading. "Are you… alright?" His hand drew up, as though to touch her arm, before rethinking the gesture and pulling it away once more. He was still concerned; no doubt worrying that his confession had just irreversibly changed him in her eyes. He was right, but not for the reasons he thought. Suddenly Alistair seemed… fragile; though it was almost absurd to associate the word with the man. Especially given what they had already gone through together, and what still lay ahead.

Yet there it was. Alistair was precious and so very, very breakable.

Valeria blinked quickly, drawing her expression in check. "Oh. Yes. Just… wrapping my head around it all." She lied smoothly, fighting against emotion to keep her voice light. "So, that's it? You're not hiding anything else from me?" She tried to seem teasing, but she had to know for certain. If there were any more secrets, she needed to know. So she could plan for their consequences, if need be.

"Besides my unholy love of fine cheeses and a minor obsession with my hair, no, that's it. Just the prince thing." He smiled playfully, willingly falling into banter with her once more.

Maker, he really had no idea of the danger they were in. If he had one inkling of their situation it would have been painted across his face. She decided not to plant her worries into his head. At the moment it wouldn't do either of them any good. If he thought his presence was bringing additional danger down upon them, he might do something stupidly chivalrous. He might revert to his previous habits of taking assassin's blades to save her skin; stating they were meant for him anyway.

And who knows, he might have even been right.

"So… you're a prince," she drawled, pouring all of her persuasive abilities into the act. He could find the chinks in her emotional armor, and she had to be convincing. She had to put him back at ease. "Somehow I find that very… thrilling." She stepped into him, a finger running down his chest plate; tracing the patterns of the muscles beneath which she had long since committed to memory. The grin upon her face cocked sideways a bit, letting him know she was still capable of teasing him.

"Really?" He fell all too easily for her ruse. "Did I just find the one damn good thing about my birthright?" Another bright grin brought out his boyish charm and Valeria retreated, allowing him personal space once more. It would do no good for them to address the Arl while Alistair's cheeks and ears burned red. And to be honest she really wasn't in the right state of mind to continue with anything beyond flirting.

Alistair assured her once more how much he absolutely did not want the throne, but as he spoke those guarantees, it was clear to Valeria that they wouldn't matter to Loghain. If Loghain found out Alistair lived, the efforts to hunt the male warden down would increase tenfold. There would be no safe place for them.

She would have to consult the Arl in private. Perhaps together, the two of them could find a way to safeguard Alistair without sending him into quiet hiding. Ferelden could not afford to have one of its two Grey Wardens retreat into obscurity, no matter how much she wished it so.

She had been furious with Loghain before for his treachery in Ostagar. She had wanted him to face justice for his betrayal. Now… now she wanted him drawn and quartered. She absently considered that her hatred of the man might equal Alistair's now.

After a quick but thorough kiss that still managed to steal the breath from her lungs, Alistair started towards the bridge, his steps visibly lighter. Valeria had done her job at soothing his concerns well, it seemed. Wynne followed, seemingly eager to speak more on the topic with the young man she so adored.

The noble rogue turned to her Orlesian friend, standing not twenty paces away. "You heard that." She didn't have to ask; Leliana was very good at being aware of what was happening around her. "I need your help; your eyes and ears." It was a plea, as plaintive as you like; but Leliana was nearly a sister, and Valeria's pride had no bearing in their friendship. Leliana approached her friend, her face taught with concern.

"You think he is in danger." The cunning woman said knowingly. "He is an heir, though he does not wish it. And now he is in a position to legitimately take great power from its usurper. This is more than sufficient grounds for assassination in any political arena." Leliana would know such things. It had been her life for so many years. Valeria found herself immensely grateful to count such a woman as so dear a friend.

"Zevran was called to deal with an inconvenience." Leliana continued, thinking their predicament out aloud, as she often did when consulting with her leader. "But if that inconvenience becomes a true threat, no expense will be spared to be rid of such a dangerous person. Loghain would not be foolish enough to leave Alistair be. He would bankrupt the kingdom if it meant killing the last remaining heir to the throne. Just look at how he has already pitched Ferelden into civil war. Clearly he is far too ambitious to exercise restraint."

"Alistair doesn't see that." Valeria whispered, though her lover was far enough out of earshot that they could speak freely. "He won't be watching for the knife at his back. I don't know how well he would take it if he did know; but I do know we can't afford to have him making mistakes if he tried to compensate."

Leliana nodded. "I will watch the shadows while you watch over Alistair. I will keep this secret until you think he is ready to know. You know him best, after all." Normally her bard-sister would have delivered such words as a clever remark of Alistair's prowess, or a knowing chuckle; but here she spoke frankly.

Valeria nodded; her fingers twitching, eager to take up The Rose's Thorn. She watched as Wynne spoke to the new-found prince, her words bringing a red tinge to his ears visible even in the failing daylight. A man was hurrying across the bridge to meet their troupe, his expression taught. Valeria hurried after the templar and mage to hear what new trouble lay before them. But as she trotted to catch-up, her mind snapped closed upon a thought as fiercely as an iron leg-hold.

She would not allow Loghain to reach her lover. Treachery would not take another cherished one from her life.

On this Valeria swore.

XXXX

**Am I the only one who thought that no one worried about Alistair's neck as much as they should have – particularly the love interest (if that is how you played the game?) Alistair announces he's got more claim to the throne than anyone and no one stops to think that maybe Loghain might try a little more lethal than one half-assed attempt (enter Zevran). I mean sure, the group is tough and all, but I think Loghain would have pulled out all of the stops to make sure no one had more right to the throne than him. **

**Or maybe I'm just the type who overacts.**

**I know the last few chapters have been mostly talkie-no-action. This, children, is called "Setting the Scene". As in, you have to read a few plot points so that when s**t hits the fan you don't feel like you missed a whole bunch of stuff. So bear with me, okay? :o)**


	9. Expectations and Realities

**I've had the urge to go back to my roots and do a decent fight scene for some time. Then real life needed me for a while, so this was set on the back burner. When I finally came back to it, I had to do some rewriting because I couldn't remember where I had been trying to go with it based on where I had left off.**

**Expectations and Realities**

Patience, her mother had scolded her frequently in her childhood.

Patience, her father had sighed wearily many times in her youth.

Patience, her brother had smirked while patting her shoulder in her adolescence.

Patience had been a lesson branded into her; flesh and soul. It was not a trait she had been born with; rather she had cultivated it after years of reluctant practice.

All of her life, those she had loved most preached the virtues of patience.

And so she had waited.

She had resisted the urge to push head-long for Denirim; had followed the slow and winding road of her journey as a Grey Warden. She had journeyed to Ostagar and the man who would stand beside her to the end. To the wilds and Lothering and the Circle Tower; to Orzammar and the Brecilian Forest; to Redcliffe and the arl who would champion them. She had made a journey that promised no clear path to retribution, and yet she had held to her restraint, trusting that her family had always been wiser than she.

And now, with fresh blood streaking her face and armor in crimson slashes, Valeria was at last rewarded for her patience. In a cellar dank and reeking of decay and death, behind a gang of brutes that challenged her entourage pathetically, Valeria at last laid eyes upon Rendon Howe.

Her journey had made her stronger.

Her wait had made her wiser.

Her adventures had earned her allies.

And from where she stood, Howe had not changed in the slightest since their last meeting.

"Well if it isn't Bryce Cousland's little spitfire," he spat, as though her father's name fouled his tongue. "Alive and well, and still playing the man. You've yet to learn your place _girl_. Wasn't your mother always scolding you that a lady doesn't play with swords?" His words mocked her relationship with her mother, and taunted her with how close he had been to their family.

White teeth flashed from amidst the red gore masking her features as Valeria bore her teeth like a Mabari.

"I could ask you why you did it," Valeria hissed, "I could ask how you could betray my father; your dear friend. But that is irrelevant now. My family's blood is on your hands. And so yours shall be on mine."

"Insolent wretch!" The arl growled. "You ran like a whipped dog with your tail between your legs that night, and now you try to threaten me? When those you failed to save lie rotting where they fell dead? You're as pathetic as the weaklings from whence you spawned!"

Daggers flashed in the dim light and the female warden sprang at the elder man without further utterance, blades pin-wheeling between her fingers as she danced nimbly towards the one she hated more than any other living being.

Moving quickly to avoid the driving blades aimed at her breast, the rogue warden spun around her attacker, her dragonbone dagger reaching, catching, and raking shallow tears into the leather of Howe's armored shoulder and chest. Despite his age, Howe was fast enough to avoid injury, and strong enough to do terrible damage if she hesitated. Her whirling ceased and she fell to a knee not from vertigo, but to slash at the man's belly, ripping at the layers of leather armor that sheathed him. One armored boot kicked out at her face and she dropped to the cold stone floor, rolling out of the line of assault. Her legs pumping into the air, Valeria sprang from back to feet, her daggers sure and ready in her grip.

Fire exploded near her feet, forcing her to dance away, her thighs stinging as flames licked at her exposed skin. Howe's mage defended his master with a wall of flames, pushing his attacker back, closer to the soldiers Morrigan currently distracted with spells of horror and disorientation. It was all a game to her, after all. Only a game.

A large mass of bright metal flashed across Valeria's field of vision and taunts demanding to know who ordered death boomed over the crash of weaponry and spell casts. Alistair sped past, his shield smashing into the face of Howe's pet mage. With abilities that were beyond Valeria's understanding, Alistair began dousing the magic within the room. Beyond Valeria's should Morrigan cursed Alistair loudly; yet the templar did not halt his efforts. Zevran's chuckle floated from where Morrigan had been, and the female warden knew that her apostate friend was safe for the time.

With that her dance began anew. Upon the balls of her feet she moved, twisting and thrusting blades, clashing metal against metal and, in a move that had Alistair crying out – clearly fearing she had just made a fatal error – exposing her back to Howe only to bash a heel into his ribs when he moved in to strike; earning only a thin cut to her calf from her enemy's passing blade. Twirling like a maiden at a ball, she brought up her knee, driving it into Howe's nose while he was still doubled over.

The Arl's blades rose when his body recoiled, and Valeria threw herself back, her face narrowly avoiding ruin. The traitor spun low, his dagger slicing at his quarry with almost desperate haste. A second dagger emerged from behind the Arl's back and he followed through with a thrust that sent the warden diving away to avoid the skewering point; yet not quite fast enough. A superficial slash at her flank foiled her armor and drew blood.

Valeria paused for only an instant, appraising her foe. He was stronger than she; there was no denying that. Her off-hand dagger flipped in her grip, the blade flat against her forearm. Howe smirked beneath the flow of blood from his nose, seeming to find the tactic amusing. Valeria returned the malicious expression mockingly.

"After you," she muttered, not caring if he had heard her over the noise of the battles around them.

Razor edges feigned towards her and Valeria dodged. A more earnest attack was deflected, his silverite squealing against The Rose's Thorn as she parried. The next attempt came more viciously and Valeria lifted the enchanted dagger against her arm, knocking his blade away as Alistair would wield his shield as she drove her favorite dagger into his shoulder. Blood pooled at the hilt of The Rose's Thorn, its blade hissing within his flesh. The arl howled and bashed the warden's face with the pommel of his dagger before she could retreat, sending her sprawling, and the dagger tearing from his body.

Valeria snarled at him, wiping her blood from her eye. "You'll die tonight." She confided knowingly.

Howe chuckled through a spittle-filled throat. "When death comes for me, pup, it will be long after your head has rotted away on a pike." At her side the mortal screech of another man barley caught Valeria's attention. Alistair moved on to one of Howe's soldiers, the mage a ruined heap where he had just stood.

A familiar thudding explosion warmed her back wetly, but for once the former noble did not grimace in disgust. Tonight Morrigan's favorite attack, the Walking Bomb, seemed appropriate. Graphic and brutal – it was exactly the sort of ending she wanted Howe to witness. She wanted him to know that similar violence awaited him.

Valeria opened her mouth-

-and started to sing. It was a song she rarely bothered with, as she had to focus on perfect intonation or the whole attempt would be a waste. Such concentration required she retreated from the fight – something that was not always wise. Howe's face contorted in confusion as she sang, and with a shake of his head he grinned.

"Pathetic tricks," he muttered and raised his blade.

A gut wrenching scream tore through the space behind him and Howe's attention briefly swayed to find Zevran's crow dagger buried in the chest of the arl's last mage. At their side a guard stood, silently transfixed by the song that meant to distract. It was almost pathetically easy for Alistair to sever the man's head. Howe's howl of anger clashed dissonantly against the song of diversion, and with unexpected speed he pounced upon the female warden, dagger drawn towards her throat. "You'll not have me so easily!" He roared.

Her song abandoned, Valeria pushed her arms up between his, his attack moving wide to either side. Her arms rolled over his and clamped in tightly, pinning his forearms to her sides. Shifting her weight to one side so she could lash out at a kneecap with one booted foot, the world suddenly erupted in blinding white light and agony; Howe crashed his forehead into the bridge of her nose; his arms tightening at her ribs. Another blow to her face and Valeria felt something shatter; searing agony ripping behind her eyes. With a startled cry Valeria drove a knee up, freeing herself as she crumpled to the floor. There was only enough thought within her to roll away from where Howe had been, knowing if she stayed where she was she would die. Blood burned her nostrils as it flowed in angry rivulets through her nose, into her eyes and down her cheeks; the pain temporarily blinding her.

Another voice roared furiously and she could hear metal clash, boots scuffling. Her name was howled in panic and fury; Alistair had seen the attack. Nearby a man grunted and Valeria flinched away when a hand touched her shoulder; her daggers drawnup, ready to fend off an attack. But the touch was gentle, feminine and familiar. Warmth enveloped her face Valeria found her vision had returned, the sharp stab behind her eyes retreating in the wake of the witch's healing magic.

"If t'is your wish to kill the man personally, you should move quickly," Morrigan said from a crouch at her side, her tone as uninterested as always. "The men folk appear to have adopted the task in your stead."

Valeria's attention turned to the flurry of motion across the room, Zevran and Alistair had Howe surrounded and were steadily working him into a corner. The templar flourished his sword and shield like a man bent on murder; Zevran had to dodge Alistair's attacks as often as he did Howe's. It seemed that Oghren had taught her beloved a few things about being a berserker; things Alistair seemed to pick up quickly enough. Things he employed to their fullest at the moment.

Valeria bellowed in indignation, her feet slipping against the damp stone floor as she scrambled into a run. Zevran glanced over his shoulder, his eyes wide in shock as he uttered a surprised vulgarity and threw himself to the side. Filling the gap left by the elf, the flat of Valeria's blade caught a distracted Howe across the brow, still managing to slice into his skin as she pummeled his head, her free arm striking at his throat, momentarily blocking off his air. Howe fell back, choking for air. Alistair turned to his lover; the rage clearly still present within him; though waning quickly when he saw she was mended.

"Enough," she glared at him, practically panting. "I have waited too long for this moment."

Alistair nodded and backed off a step. "I won't be far." He rumbled; a warning that if she was in danger he would intervene. Promise be damned. Valeria's glare was the only response he received.

The arl scrambled to his feet and moved towards the door, clearly having decided he would not win this fight. Yet Valeria would have nothing of it, and triple strikes of her daggers forced her enemy to abandon retreat and adopt almost strictly defensive tactics. Alternating her attacks, she tried to find the chink in his defense. Panic made her enemy sloppy; blood loss retarded his reaction time.

Her words seemed to strike home at last; Howe fought with all of the desperation of a man who knew he was moments from death.

Tucking into a somersault, the warden moved quickly to Howe's rear and, prone on her back, lashed out with a forceful kick. Bone snapped. Howe screamed and dropped to the floor. Rolling to the side, Valeria twisted and brought the heel of her boot down upon his other knee, crippling the man completely. With one last twist of her body Valeria pinned his hips between her thighs, straddling him as she might a lover, and drove The Rose's Thorn into his navel and behind his ribcage. With nearly wanton violence, she twisted the blade, ripping into vitals and damaging him beyond repair.

Howe choked wetly, and convulsed, and Valeria rose to her feet to stare down at him.

The dying man sneered up at her, his teeth thickly coated with his blood. "Maker spit on you…" he gurgled. "I deserved more…"

Valeria made no reply. Instead she watched in silence as a pool of blood gathered beneath the arl's still body. Absently, she wondered why she did not feel any satisfaction. How was it she had spent so much time plotting and waiting only to have it end so… anticlimactically? It almost seemed like a waste.

But no. Howe was a danger that would have needed to be dealt with regardless. Better to kill him now than leave the risk open for later. Still, she felt she had gained nothing from his death.

And then she realized what exactly troubled her; all of this time she had built up Howe's death as a means to something. As if vengeance would bring her family back; or take away the pain of their loss; or right the dreadful wrong in some measurable way. It had been foolish of her to have such childish notions. Her family was dead; Howe's death would not change that.

Yet some naïve part of her had managed to convince herself that it would.

She remained rooted in place for some time, until at last a gentle grip at her elbow brought her from her contemplation. She blinked dumbly and turned to find Alistair at her side.

"We should go," he said softly, "we aren't done here." Valeria nodded absently.

"Of course," she murmured and turned to lead them back to the daylight.

XXXX

Alistair paused, watching as Valeria strode from the room briskly and without so much as a backward glance. Behind them lay the man whose death she had sought for as long as Alistair had known her. Yet now that it was over, Valeria barely seemed to understand that her vengeance had been accomplished. There was no revelry or even acknowledgement. She had stared blankly at the body until Alistair wondered if she even knew the man was dead.

Following closely as they ascended the stairs and freed Anora from her high-born prison, Alistair noticed that his fellow warden said nothing since leaving the place where Howe's life had ended. It was unusual for the outgoing woman; who sometimes drove Morrigan and Sten to heated frustration with her incessant need for conversation. If Valeria was going to break, now was not the time. She had to be able to fight. Perhaps this would have been a mission she should not have-

Alistair's worries died instantly.

The site of over a dozen elite soldiers waiting at the only exit drove all thought of such things from his mind. He only vaguely heard as Ser Cauthrien spoke of their crimes. The queen seemed to realize the plight they had found themselves in, for immediately she was denying all involvement; essentially sending her defenders out like lambs to the slaughter. She began condemning them for the murder of the arl – the very man who had imprisoned her.

Alistair reeled at the betrayal. How could she? After all the danger they had courted in freeing her; after all they had done to prove to her that they could be trusted as her allies; _how could she_?

Without so much as a word to Ser Cauthrien in their defense, or a warning to her companions, Valeria drew her daggers and charged into the waiting battle.

XXXX

**I know a lot of these cut scenes seem like a let-down; but this time I thought it was dead on. Killing Howe wouldn't have fixed everything like some magic cure. Her family was still dead. They still had to fight their way out of the castle. It was believable that she'd kill him and then be left standing there like: "okay… and?" Even if she did get a feeling of self satisfaction from gutting him like a fish, she wouldn't have had time to really enjoy it.**

**I think of it as her wake-up call. Sometimes you just can't fix it, no matter how hard you try. Maybe this is the Cousland's version of being Hardened.**

**I'm getting the jones for some smut. Hmmm. Well we're in Denerim…**

**;o)**


	10. Making the Best of the Worst

**Making the Best of the Worst**

She first became aware of cold stone at her bare back and coppery wetness in her mouth. Valeria spat, her tongue roving about the inside of her mouth from habit alone to check for missing teeth. Loghain's men had made quite a show of force when taking them into custody, and Valeria suspected the knot at the back of her head might be a concussion.

She had known that there would not have been an option to go along quietly with the soldiers. She had killed Howe after all, and elite soldiers were never called in for a quiet arrest. Ser Cauthrien had intended to make an example out of them all along – Valeria had hoped to be able to cut a path through them, yet her troupe had been sadly outnumbered.

And Anora, that traitorous bitch; any sympathies Valeria held for the queen perished immediately. If anyone would have been able to help avoid a physical confrontation back there, it would have been Anora. Her position could have given the wardens amnesty if she had spoken on their behalf. Yet she had instead turned on the very people she had pleaded for help. She had knowingly allowed the last of Ferelden's Grey Wardens to be captured; unable to fulfill their purpose and end the Blight. For that, Valeria now considered her as great a threat as her father; one who must be eliminated as quickly as possible.

_Alistair._

The last memory she had of her lover was seeing him from the corner of her eye as he fell to his stomach, the pommel of a sword striking at his temple. Such a blow often killed and at the sudden return of the memory, Valeria's eyes snapped open, her body growing rigid.

To her immediate right was a brick wall, wet and slick with mildew; to her left a broad, bare back lay beside her, blocking her view of what lay beyond. Yet the site of that back brought an inundation of relief – she knew those contours better than she knew her own body, and they were shifting over the movements of steady, even breaths.

"Alistair," she whispered gratefully and the man at her side pushed upright instantly, peering down at her with anxious eyes.

"Oh, you're awake," he breathed, "thank the Maker. I thought they might have cracked your skull. I was starting to worry."

Valeria pushed herself to a sitting position beside him. Her head swooned for a moment before she was at last able to take an accurate appraisal in the dim light that filtered into the back of their cell.

Alistair's temple was bloodied and there were quite a few ugly bruises on his bare torso and arms that proved he had not been compliant. The others were nowhere to be seen, but then Ser Cauthrien had said that only the wardens were to be taken into custody. Valeria doubted very much that the soldiers would have been able to kill Morrigan or Zevran – both had the skills necessary to escape without detection if they had to.

The wardens, however, had not been so fortunate, and had been stripped to their small clothes and locked within a cold cell with only a fetid bucket of water and the rotting remains of a bedroll. Valeria was grateful Alistair had chosen to leave her on the bare stone.

"Fort Drakon," she whispered and Alistair nodded. She gazed about their surroundings and with a sinking feeling of dread she understood that her secret fear had at last come to life. From what she could see of their surroundings they were in a restricted area, undoubtedly a place used for interrogations and torture. This was not a place that was used for long term incarceration; and yet it was too heavily fortified to house those guilty of trivial infractions.

They were not meant to leave this place alive, she realized. When they had found the captured Orlesian Grey Warden, Riordan, he was being kept in Howe's dungeons – not the most heavily fortified prison in Ferelden. That she and Alistair had both been brought here meant only one thing; Alistair's identity had been discovered. If Loghain didn't know already, it would not be long before he was informed.

But with the danger of Alistair's exposed identity, it also came with certain benefits, she calculated. If they could get to a public figure – Arl Eamon for instance – Alistair's parentage could be announced to all of Ferelden. Those who opposed Loghain's abduction of the throne would have a valid opponent to back. And, if only to safeguard their own interests, they would see to it that Alistair's security was preserved. Essentially where she had once only had Leliana, now entire armies would be keeping their eyes and ears alert, ready to thwart any hired blade of Loghain's that thirsted for Alistair's blood.

Let the issue of who would actually take the throne wait for another day. For now Valeria would be content to throw the masses a juicy bone, and let them work to her ends until she could find a more permanent solution. She had to smirk at herself – Maker, she was actually beginning to think like those noble bureaucrats now.

Valeria rose to her knees and winced, shifting her position. Alistair's eyes darkened.

"They didn't…" his voice was low and grave. Valeria's nerves frayed slighty at the way he watched her – like she was about to keel over dead. "I wasn't conscious when they disarmed us. I don't know if…" he pressed a hand to his face, his features screwing up in frustration. "They didn't… _touch_ you, did they?"

Maker's Mercy! Did he not understand the precariousness of their situation? Here they were, having obviously been sentenced to death, if not tortured first, and Alistair could not get beyond _that_? For Alistair's peace of mind, Valeria quickly took stock of her injuries.

"No," she said. "Just a few bruises." She twisted and winced. "Maybe a fractured rib and a minor concussion. Are you alright?" Alistair's shoulders sagged with relief.

"I've been worse. I'll be better still once we're out of here," he admitted. Valeria agreed, her eyes scanning the area beyond their cell. Nothing was within reach they could use to escape, and the only guard stood on the other side of a wide corridor. He had been watching them with veiled interest, watching _her_ mostly, and only turned his gaze when he noticed she was aware of him. Clearly one of Howe's men; from the way he held himself perhaps a cocky thug brought in from the back alleys, but most certainly not a trained soldier. It repulsed her the way the man's eyes strayed to her thin undergarments, and Valeria began to understand why Alistair had huddled her between himself and the back wall.

It also gave her an idea.

"Let's get out of here." She muttered, looking about to make certain no surprises might lie in wait; her mind working to piece together the means to their escape.

"I hope you have a plan." Alistair smirked mirthlessly, clearly insinuating that he was out of ideas. Valeria nodded after a moment.

"Do you trust me?"

"What?" Alistair frowned, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"I need you to trust me. Can you do that?" She sensed Alistair's hesitation. He was no fool; clearly he knew that he was not going to like what was coming. Yet he did not refuse outright.

"Tell me what I need to do." He muttered at last.

"Wait back here in the shadows and try not to attract attention until the time is right," she said, pushing herself slowly to her feet and reaching up to smooth her hair and brush the grit from her face. It seemed ridiculous, and in all honesty, for this she would rather Alistair not have been present. But he was here and she was out of ideas. Feigning sick or injured would do no good – the guards hadn't even given them dressings to tend to their wounds. This was the only option Valeria could think of.

Making certain to give her hips a fair amount of swing, the female warden strode slowly to the cell door. Behind her she heard Alistair groan softly in dread, and then he was silent.

"Ser? Excuse me," she reached the front of the cell and leaned against the bars, pressing her chest to the cold metal and lifting a knee between the bars as though they were the legs of a lover. The man's eyes snapped to her once more, drifting down with seeming habit to take in the full sight of her.

"If you aren't bleeding I don't care," his voice was gruff, but there was an edge to it. An eagerness. Valeria forced herself not to tense. This man was a dolt; a lecher who had not enough whit to know when he was being played. Valeria thanked what bit of fortune had given them that much of an advantage, at least.

"I was just lonely…" she said softly, "and I'm a little cold." She prayed that wherever her mother and father were, they couldn't see this. Her mother would have switched the skin from her rear personally no matter what the reason for the ruse.

Thankfully the jailor had either failed to notice Alistair, or had disregarded him completely. Valeria dared not look back at her fellow Warden to see how well he had managed to hide himself in plain sight.

"I… could keep you company," the armored buffoon said at last, stepping away from his post and fumbling with the keys; and Valeria wondered which noble's idiot son this was to have been given such an important position without having the necessary skills to hold it. With a jerk of his chin the man signaled Valeria to step away from the door, and she did so without hesitation. She stood patiently, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Once the door had locked behind the man, Valeria affected a saddened expression once more.

"It will be hard to warm myself against metal," she sighed sadly, rubbing her arms. "I suppose this wasn't such a good idea after all…" The guard reached up and fumbled with catches.

"I can have this off in just a moment. Maker they put a lot of buckles on this thing." He grumbled as he set to work. Valeria dared not press her luck, and stood waiting, watching with what she hoped appeared to be obedience. This fool made poor Sandal seem sensible! She prayed the man wouldn't notice Alistair in the shadows; that he would get at least a few pieces of armor and reveal a couple of weak points off before the ruse was discovered. His gauntlets were deposited on the floor followed by his cuirass, leaving a helmet of only moderate coverage and boots. With a grin that made Valeria's throat clench in disgust the man took a step towards her, trying to kick out of his footwear as he moved. His breath smelled of ale; no doubt a contributing factor to his stupidity. His fingers reached out to scrape at her bare skin, and Valeria's hand fisted at her side.

Alistair seemed to find this sufficient, for in the same moment the jailor's eyes grew wide with fear, the male warden was upon them, crashing a fist into their captor's throat. His follow-up blow caught his victim beneath the ribcage, and the guard wretched as he fell to the floor. Valeria bent and pawed at the greaves and cuirass, fumbling through the metal armaments, seeking out the keys to the cell. Behind her the quiet impacts of fists striking flesh and low grunts from the guard continued as Alistair thrashed the man thoroughly. When Valeria at last had the keys in hand, they were racing for the exit; Alistair slamming the cell door shut and holding it in place while Valeria jammed the key home, breaking the thin metal spine in the keyhole as she locked it. Alistair glared at her, infuriated.

"The next time you ask me to trust you, remind me of what a fool I was to do so this time!"

"We're free, aren't we?" She hissed.

"And if he had taken you from the cell?" Alistair demanded, his arm thrust beside her head as he gestured to the incapacitated man they had locked with the cell. "If he'd taken you somewhere else… if he took you where I couldn't help if you needed me? Maker's Breath, woman, what foolish thought was going through your head?" Without looking, Valeria pointed to her right.

"That." She said flatly, and Alistair turned, his fierce expression dulling. Beyond a small balcony the view was unimpeded – devices of torture and death filled the chamber beneath. "More precisely, you and I in there, having to listen to one another scream. Are you still a fool?" White teeth flashed in that boyish face as he grimaced briefly.

"Yes," he sighed, "but I'm not so sure about you anymore. Let's just go. The sooner we're out of here the better."

Though his voice was still tight with annoyance, Valeria knew that Alistair would hold no fault against her for her little ploy. He was silent as the ventured through the massive chamber, happening upon a small armory that held the uniform armor of the tower guards. They each donned a set, and helped themselves to some weapons as well, though Valeria grumbled at having to use a sword rather than her favorite dagger.

His words still echoed within her thoughts, sparking indignation within her. He has scolded her for placing herself in danger. _He_ had scolded _her_. Of all the absurdities!

"What makes you think I would have needed your help anyway?" She asked after a time and a fair amount of skirmishes against small fists of guards along the way. Alistair glanced up at her, clearly not understanding what she meant.

"I beg your pardon?"

"If the jailor had taken me from the cell." She clarified, trying not to outright bicker. "What makes you think I would have needed your help?"

"Maker's Breath," he muttered, "are we back to this again? We aren't, are we? Tell me you are not trying to have this discussion _here_ of all places. This isn't exactly the best timing, Valeria."

She glowered at being chided by him… again. "You said it. I'm only asking for an explanation."

"I don't know that you would have needed my help," he allowed, "but what if you had?"

"You believe that you could have helped, with no weapon, no shield, and wearing only your smallclothes?"

"Point taken." He gritted. "So is that it? Are you quite finished reminding me how absolutely inept I am at protecting you, and how vastly independent you are?" Valeria stopped in her tracks. Well when he put it like _that_…

"You're not inept." She argued. Alistair grunted noncommittally, and their conversation was abandoned so they could focus on dispatching another handful of guards they had happened upon. Alistair seemed to cut their quarry down a little more violently than usual, and with none of his characteristic taunts. Valeria began to feel very petty. There really had been no need to ask such a thing. _My, how one's ego does expand after a few successful missions_, she thought bitterly of herself.

"I didn't mean to make you feel badly," she said at last when they were finished with the final guard and he had begun to stride down the corridor ahead of her. Alistair said nothing. She had to hurry to keep up with his long strides. "You're not inept, Alistair. You're one of the most capable people I've ever known."

Still silence.

"Alistair?" She said, feeling worse with every moment he held his tongue. "Look… even though I can take care of myself, I admit that having you around makes me feel… safe. And to be perfectly honest, the idea of not having you fighting at my side, it's not something I would ever want to face."

"So, even though you don't need me, I make you feel safe?" He made it sound as though he found the notion ridiculous.

"I _do_ need you Alistair," Valeria admitted to his back, as he refused to turn and face her.

"You need me." Alistair practically scoffed.

"Yes."

"Because you don't want to fight alone?"

"Among other reasons." She said.

"Those being…?"

How could he ask her that, she thought, a little hurt. Didn't he know how important he was to her? Didn't he realize how desperately she cared for him? As she opened her mouth to recite to him a list of reasons why he was so vital to her, he glanced over his shoulder – one brow cocked, his cheek pulled high over his smirk. Valeria sighed and shook her head. He had been toying with her. That blasted cheat!

A guard appeared from around the corner. Valeria grinned at Alistair's ruse and her own foolishness at having fallen into it.

"Shut up and fight," She chuckled.

Beyond the guards were bellowing furiously, the clattering noise of their armor clashing against stone walls. Yet Alistair's grin remained rooted firmly to his features. "If you insist."

XXXX

**This is my take on why our heroes ended up in the tower when Riordan had only been sent to Howe's dungeons: the Cousland for the murder of Howe, and Alistair for his parentage. Couldn't go straight to the smut, you know. They had to get out of the tower first… ;o) **


	11. The Road To Being a Duelist Begins With…

**Aw hell. I have no patience. I wrote this immediately after posting Chapters 9 and 10 and planned on waiting a few days to post it – so people could let me know what they thought of the other two chapters, also. Some readers forget to leave feedback for plot chapters when smut enters the picture. ;o) But I got all antsy in the pants (no pun intended) and decided 'screw it' (again, no pun intended.) If you remember, please let me know what you thought about Chapters 9 and 10 also – I'm proud of them, too.**

**And if you've got a problem with same-sex interactions, perhaps you should skip this one. **

**The Road To Being a Duelist Begins With…**

Valeria had gaped at the woman; murmuring that she'd never seen such prowess with dual daggers. It was true, Alistair had to admit. The men who had stood against the lone foreigner had been pathetically outmatched, though they were larger, more heavily armored and had outnumbered her. Indeed the very attributes that would normally give them the advantage in a fight had become their undoing.

Alistair knew that his beloved was intent on learning from this woman. A new technique of such skill no doubt compelled her; she'd obsess over it if she did not learn it soon. The trick would be getting this woman to agree to the lessons. Yet he had no doubts Valeria would succeed. Her honey tongue had cajoled the impossible out of perfect strangers in the past.

"You're very good," Valeria pointed out to her would-be mentor respectfully after proper introductions, and only after the last of the ruffians had stumbled back out into the streets. The woman, Isabela, smiled.

"Ah, so you saw that little drama," she rolled her eyes, "they've never proven a match for me. Fighting duels against such opponents is how I came to know what it is that I am: a Duelist."

"I see," Valeria replied, "I must admit, your style appeals to me greatly. Is this something you would be willing to instruct me on, perhaps?" At this Isabela chuckled.

"An unusual request from a Grey Warden," her brow rose and Alistair's skin prickled at the observation. "I've seen many of your kind in my travels," Isabela explained with a playful smile, "and while those encounters have always been pleasant, I have to admit, there is always something… odd about you."

Isabela tilted her head, scrutinizing the female warden. "It is nothing disagreeable," she clarified, realizing she may have offended, "simply different and… difficult to identify. Though I must say, I have never met one as lovely as you; or your companion for that matter." Cinnamon eyes slid from Valeria to Alistair and back again, as though savoring the view. Alistair felt his insides roil. Women had look at him with desire before, but he had never seen a woman flirt so openly with Valeria before. Despite the jealousy he knew he should be experiencing, a thrill burned through him. It was like watching a fantasy come to life. Valeria's cheeks turned pink, but she did not become upset that Alistair could see. Strange…

"Was that a no?" She asked cautiously, and Isabela shook her head.

"Not at all," her lilting accent was lovely enough; her expression soft and inviting. Rivaini, Alistair realized. Her complexion, her speech, her open nature, all of it placed her as a native of the northern peninsula. "I would be honored to share my knowledge with you. My… contribution to ending the Blight," she smiled as though the idea were a novelty. "But first, I should get to know my pupil. What if we… shared some drinks and a game?" Isabela's gaze slid down over the warden's leather armor, and then back to her face. Alistair shifted on his feet, aware that the room was warming uncomfortably.

"A game?" Valeria asked. "What sort of game?"

"Oh the game doesn't matter," Isabela waved off, "it is just a way for us to become better acquainted." Valeria nodded and glanced at Alistair, her expression transforming into quiet surprise. Her eyes flickered to Isabela and back to Alistair. Her expression became thoughtful and after a moment, a slow, secretive smile crept across her face. The shock and thrill within Alistair compounded – he _knew_ that look. Maker, he knew it well. But he couldn't believe he was seeing it – not here.

"What if I had something a little more… personal in mind?" Valeria asked the duelist, affecting the same innuendoes into her voice that the Rivaini used. Isabela's smile broadened.

"Are you suggesting…" Alistair was dumbfounded, "I mean… with her? Are you sure?" Valeria's attention returned to him, that same secret smile still present. "Wow," he murmured to himself absently, "and here I am, awake and everything."

"I wasn't planning on leaving you behind, Alistair," Valeria confided, and Alistair felt as though he had just been pummeled with Stone Fist. She had said, right? He hadn't imagined it? Was he hallucinating?

"Now you have me intrigued." Isabela nearly purred. "Indeed it would be rude of me to refuse such a… delicious offer." Two sets of female eyes turned up to the male warden, and Alistair's pulse kicked like a stallion.

They were serious. Andraste's Flaming Sword, these women were serious! How in Thedas did Valeria suddenly decide this was something she wanted to do? Had she always wanted to try this? How had he not known? "I'm a weak, weak man," he muttered to himself after a moment to let it sink in, "I guess I'll have to play as well. It would be rude to refuse, after all." He waited for Valeria to become upset; waited for her to demand to know how could not recognize such a poor joke. Yet her fingers threaded through his and she smiled at him coyly.

"Then let us go somewhere a little more private," Isabella suggested, "my ship at the docks perhaps? I'm certain you'll find my cabins quite comfortable."

Alistair could only follow dumbly as the duelist showed the wardens the way.

XXXX

_The Siren's Call_ was spacious, in pristine working order, and well armed. But the guided tour consisted solely of a walk across deck, and then bellow to the captain's quarters at the rear of the ship, so the wardens could not deduce if Isabela was merchant or pirate; not that it mattered. Valeria was clearly set on following through with her intentions, a prospect which both excited and terrified Alistair.

The Rivaini woman's cabin was more than comfortable; it was lavish. Satin coverlets, thick pillows, heavy drapes at the windows and rich, polished furniture marked Isabela for a woman of wealth and taste. Yet she was not materialistic. Her daggers, still bloodied from her skirmish, were set upon a lovely stuffed chair, and her soiled boots deposited upon an Orlesian rug that could have been sold to buy a small house. Valeria and Alistair followed her example, leaving footwear and weaponry as they entered.

"I must say, I am glad you invited Alistair," Isabela admitted, reaching up to remove a leather choker from around her neck and tossing it to a nearby sideboard. "There is always room for one more, after all."

"I would not have come without him," Valeria replied, and Alistair felt some of his nerves calm… but only some. If he admitted it to no one but himself, Alistair had wondered if Valeria would have gone with Isabela had the woman decided against the company of a man. Isabela was clearly intrigued by Valeria's confession, however.

"Is that so?" She mulled, "so you are… involved, I take it." A glance at the couple before her and the duelist's smile widened. "And yet you would share him with me?"

"Only if it pleases him."

"I see…" Isabela sauntered over to Valeria, "and does it, Alistair?" Her gaze fell upon him. "Please you?"

"I… I don't know," he said hesitantly, "I've… never truly considered this before." He honestly hadn't ever thought it possible. Valeria was adventurous, but…

_Boundaries, hello!_

"No?" A teasing smile quirked the Rivaini's lips and, without taking her eyes from Alistair, she ran tanned fingers down Valeria's pale cheek. "Not ever? Not in idle fancy, or dreams? Tell me there has never been a woman you have seen in passing and wondered what her legs would look like entwined with yours and your lover's." Alistair's blood scorched his face from within as he watched Valeria's chest rise with a quivering sigh.

"Tell me you have never wondered what it would be like to lie with two women," Isabela coaxed.

"I…can't." He had been male before meeting his beloved, after all, even if he never had acted upon those fantasies.

"And would it displease you," Isabela's fingers snaked behind Valeria's neck and into her hair, "if I was that woman?" The cord which held strawberry locks in check fell away, and Valeria's hair fanned across her shoulders. It was very rarely that Alistair saw Valeria with her hair down; he could not help but to gape as her softened appearance.

"No, not at all." he murmured, watching Isabela's hand as it combed through the freed tresses; green eyes slid closed slowly, reveling in the sensation. With her other hand, Isabela cupped the female warden's cheek.

"Would it displease you," the duelist's voice lowered so that she was nearly a whisper, "if I kissed your Valeria now?"

Were Isabela a man, Alistair would have broken every finger on the hand at Valeria's cheek by now. But Isabela was a woman; an exotic, attractive, seductive woman. And the look upon Valeria's face…

Fully aware of the double standard he was living by at the moment, Alistair could only shake his head.

A full, round mouth cupped those blushing lips Alistair had tasted so often. He waited for Valeria to pull back, to change her mind. Instead she leaned into the kiss, returning it with gentle insistence. She then extended inviting fingers out to him, her other hand rising to return a palm's embrace upon Isabela's cheek. Alistair stepped in tentatively, taking the outstretched hand once he was within reach. Valeria broke the kiss slowly and pulled him near.

"Would you like a taste?" She asked of him.

_Right, as though this woman was a delicious pastry_, he though glibly. Yet warm fingers gripped him deftly behind his neck and before he could react, lips he had never known before were pressing against his mouth; firmer than Valeria's, larger, and while gentle, they brooked no question that she was in command. And as Isabela claimed his mouth, another kiss he knew by heart began to trace the line of his jaw. Fingers slid through his hair; from their angle they must have been Valeria's.

Trepidation was swept aside by a current of desire. Feminine hands were unfastening buckles and catches of his armor, while eager lips caressed his jaw, his neck, his mouth. His heart quickened impossibly. Isabela's teeth plucked lightly at his throat and, his eyes closing in surrender, Alistair felt his knees turn to jelly. A low chuckle answered his moan.

"He likes to be teased, does he?" The foreign woman asked. Valeria's lips encased his earlobe, pulling at it kindly.

"To an extent," she murmured, and claimed Alistair's lower lip for herself, drawing him down so she could deepen the kiss and explore his mouth with her tongue. Metal was removed piece by piece and Alistair was soon keenly aware that he wore nothing more than a light shirt and his trousers. He tried a few times to reach out and take hold of someone, but always his hands were brushed away. When bulky leather landed at their feet, Alistair's hands were caught up and introduced to the bare skin of both women. One hand slid up soft skin before resting upon a breast larger than he had ever touched. He swore softly, his knees nearly giving way for an instant.

Firm hands pulled at him, and his calf bumped against something solid. He glanced down to find Isabela perching herself upon the foot of the bed, Valeria on his other side to help guide him down. When at last his back found the soft mattress his shirt was stripped away and two eager mouths began to trail over his chest, shoulders, neck and jaw; fingernails scratching light trails down his torso. Alistair shuddered at the sensual contact. Isabela's teeth nipped at the hardening bud beneath her lips with almost painful abandon, causing him to cry out softly; her tongue lapping at the offended area, increasing the torment.

The dark woman shifted beside him, straddling his arm. With her free hand, she guided his fingers between her thighs to her point of blazing passion. At the moan that escaped her lips, Alistair's free hand cupped Valeria's face urgently, bringing her up so that he could ravage her lips and bury his voice within her throat.

"And what of me, my pet," the accent at his ear panted. His head twisted, and thick lips caught up his kiss, drinking him, drowning him, demanding that he pour all of his passion into the act. The hand that had held to his beloved's face was caught up and moved, sliding into soft, damp curls and hot folds. Valeria's voice groaned with pleasure in his other ear.

By reflex alone, Alistair's hips writhed uselessly into empty air.

"We've neglected him." Valeria said with disdain, her attention drawn down to his torment while her fingers trailed from smooth skin to the waistline of his trousers. The mouth he delved into so deeply retreated, and so did the searing bodies on either side. Alistair gasped for air, his abandoned fingers trembling. He tried to ask where they had gone, tried to utter something lucid, but his lungs would not spare enough breath to release more than a weak moan.

Cool emptiness met his hips and thighs as four hands pulled at the remaining fabric concealing his body, making way for the scalding lips and tongues that met his hip bones, his naval and other places that while sensitive, did not crave attention as desperately as that single throbbing point that ruled him presently. By Andraste, he was going to die. He was going to die here beneath the taunting fingers and lips of these two seductresses.

"Oh, my dear Valeria," Isabela's voice was thick with appreciation, "it is no wonder you have not sought the company of another man. Thank you, for sharing such a marvelous creature with me."

"He is gorgeous, isn't he?" Valeria murmured, sliding a hand delicately along the inside of his thigh, and causing him to buck towards her in silent plea. He couldn't take it; the taunting would kill him, he just knew it. His thundering heart was about to break from his body.

"…Maker," he graveled at last, peering down his chest at the sweat-sheened beauties, "…please… kiss me. Please." He needed their lips, their tongues. He needed to taste their mouths. To one side, Isabela smiled her own version of a woman's secret smile.

"Of course, my pet." And she lowered her face to his thighs, her lips traveling up the length of his arousal slowly. Alistair gasped loudly. It wasn't what he had meant, but by the divine fires he was not about to correct her!

Isabela reached up and cupped the back of Valeria's neck, pulling the female warden down with her. Another set of lips met his need, tongues gliding against his flesh, twining with each other. Their hostess pushed lightly against Valeria's shoulder until Alistair had an unimpeded view of pink tongues caressing him; full lips encasing him; and fevered kisses between the women as they shared in the task of pleasuring the man beneath them. He moaned, called out for them, for the Maker; his fingers burying in their long locks.

Valeria's thighs rocked against his shin futilely, and he watched as Isabela reached across his legs, deftly snapping the fragile strings holding the scarlet-haired woman's smallclothes in place. An olive-skinned hand slid between his leg and Valeria's naked curls; his beloved's fists clenching spasmodically against him as she cried out in pleasure. Her body quaked against him and she was lost to the ecstasy that was delivered by those knowing fingers. When the movements of Isabela's attention ceased at last, Valeria lifted dazed eyes to the Rivaini woman.

"How," she croaked, "how can I do that for you?" Dark, damp fingers took hold of Valeria's hand and guided it to Isabela's core, pressing it against Alistair's leg in much the same manner. Together two sets of fingers moved – one teaching, one learning – and Isabela's breath soon sped, panted, groaned and finally culminated in a shrill moan that left her body trembling against Alistair's leg, her mouth seeking his length in much the same manner he had sought out Valeria's kiss earlier. A strangled cry broke from his throat as her lips clamped down wantonly upon his flesh.

"And now, sweet thing…" the duelist panted once she had regained herself, "who shall sheath him first?" Green eyes rose to his gaze, her face twisted with desire.

"You take him first," she said at last, to Alistair's surprise, "I want his final throws." Isabela smiled wickedly.

"Do you hear that, Alistair?" She purred, rising up upon hands and knees. "Our sweet thing wants to claim your essence for herself." She crawled over him like a feral cat, his waist resting between her knees. "Can you give her your fingers while I take my turn? It would be selfish to leave her out while she waits." The way they spoke to him and of him should have had him blushing furiously; yet he was certain there was not enough blood in his body to fuel both needs at once. The blushing would have to wait.

Valeria crawled up to lay beside him, drawing his fingers back to her soft mound. Her lips played against his neck. "Touch me," she breathed, "touch me while she takes you."

"Maker, woman," he croaked hoarsely, "if I'm to last through both of you, please, _don't say such things to me_." Her hand probed beneath her, pressing his fingers against her folds, her honey drenching his skin at once. With gentle insistence he pushed two fingers into her, feeling her respond to his touch with ardent pleasure.

"I am quite certain I can promise our completion." Isabela called softly from atop him. The two wardens turned their eyes to observe as the duelist unashamedly lowered herself onto Alistair's burgeoning arousal, taking it all in with delicious slowness. Alistair's breath caught in his chest, his occupied fingers twitching within Valeria, causing her to moan and squirm against his touch.

Isabela rose up on her knees and lowered herself back onto him, her inner walls flexing over him. Like her kiss, she differed from Valeria, and the sensation of this new experience had Alistair dizzy with excitement. She leaned away, breasts aimed to the heavens, and drove herself down upon him, her reclined angle affording him a perfect view of their merging bodies. He'd never seen this before; it was arousing in a way he had never imagined. Sweat trickled between her breasts as she panted and gasped and spoke inarticulate things in a tongue he could not make out.

Alistair's breath burned through his throat and Isabela leaned forward, taking Valeria's hand in hers and guiding it to the place where the two lovers were joined. The Rivaini wrapped pale fingers around the base of Alistair's need and instructed Valeria on the proper way to stroke and grip the man, pressing the Ferelden's fingers against the dark brown curls at his base as she worked.

Alistair moaned loudly, his body shaking violently. At his side his fellow warden exploited his lust as she had been taught, her mouth locking possessively to the base of his throat when Isabela had breathlessly told her to take him into her teeth and suckle the flesh there. Alistair felt himself build towards an end he had been told not to reach. Not with Isabela, at least. She was above him, a mass of quivering limbs as she found her crest before him and rode it out like a woman possessed. He tried to warn them of his impending climax, tried to tell them, his free hand gripped forcefully at Isabela's hip as his undoing drew near. He couldn't speak – could barely think. They were in control and he was powerless against their intentions. His insides twisted, tightened-

Dark fingers covered Valeria's, forcing two hands to grasp his the base of his manhood mercilessly, almost painfully. Alistair gasped, his body going rigid.

"Take him," Isabela rasped, pulling herself from his body. Valeria scrambled atop him, her depths claiming him without delay. Scooting up behind Valeria, Isabela affixed herself atop Alistair's thighs and, with her hands on Valeria's hips, showed the warden a way of riding her lover unlike anything they had tried before. Her hips twisting, her legs pushing herself onto him in ways they had never known. Valeria's head leaned back into the shoulder behind her and Isabela's teeth found her throat just as the female warden had claimed Alistair's only moments before. With one hand trailing between Valeria's thighs, Isabela clutched at Alistair as she had directed Valeria; only where the Ferelden woman had been a novice in her attempts, Isabela grasped him with an expertise that had the man beneath them breathless and seeing spots.

He could not hold back any longer, and his passion erupted, sending his consciousness spiraling from him. He heard Valeria's voice as she incoherently cried out with her release with him and knew only that he was splitting in two. The world faded to black before his wide eyes; only coming back into focus when Valeria was collapsing limply onto his chest. Fingers combed gently through his sweat soaked hair as another body lay down beside the wardens. Plump lips claimed his mouth sweetly and then dipped low to offer the same kiss to Valeria. Atop him, Valeria's breath wheezed, her heart seemed to be trying to beat its way beneath his ribs. He couldn't even raise an arm to hold her, having poured all of his strength away.

"You should sleep here tonight," the Rivaini whispered softly after a while. "I doubt very much you will recover the full use of your legs this evening."

Had he the wind in him to do so, Alistair would have laughed at the statement. She sounded quite pleased with herself, to be sure. Dark fingers reached up to push crimson hair from Valeria's face; her green eyes were hazy.

"Tomorrow," Isabela smiled indulgently, "if you are able, we will have your lessons."

"Yes," Alistair heard Valeria whisper against his chest, "yes, tomorrow would be best."

And at Valeria's admission, Alistair was at last able to chuckle weakly.

If Valeria ever got it in her head to be this adventurous again he would have to remind her of the toll it would take on them, he decided, gazing down at the women blanketing him like some forbidden fantasy.

_... Or…on second thought…_

XXXX

**You know that in a situation like this, Alistair would TOTALLY be the submissive. It is obvious – there is no way he'd try to take control. Where would the fun in THAT be? ;o)**


	12. The Joys of Family Life

**The Joys of Family Life**

As surprising as it may have been, Valeria found she was actually glad to be out of the city and back at camp. Arl Eamon had advised her to take Alistair and leave civilization; at least until he could rally enough support for Alistair to keep the lot of them safe. And so Valeria and her friends renewed their acquaintanceship with the Blackstone Irregulars, who had agreed to keep a watchful eye on their trail while the wardens completed some of the organization's errands that required a delicate hand. It was a way to keep busy and earn a few coins while they waited for Eamon's signal to return.

And so they returned to the familiar. Traveling by day, staking up their camp at night – complete with Bodahn and Sandal, who had decided, per the elder dwarf, that they belonged with the Grey Wardens more than they did anywhere else. It was their duty to keep the party well stocked – their way of fighting the good fight, as Bodahn had put it.

And tucked within the familiarity of their camp, the stillness of the surrounding forest was soothing. The soft crackling of the cook fire had seemed to lull Alistair to sleep quickly, while Valeria drowsed lightly beside him, enjoying the warmth of his arms and the cool night air against her face. Shadows passed unhurriedly between her tent and the flames; one of their friends had just moved to sit before the fire.

She would miss this, when it was all said and done. Despite the heavy burden of their mission and of the danger they currently faced, there was a certain freedom in their lives at the moment. Out here on the road there were no nobles or bureaucrats to please. No proprieties to abide by; only each other and the task before them. And while not everyone got along, all were comfortable enough around one another. Here at camp they were all free to act as themselves. Camp was home to them, at least for the time being, to laugh and squabble and speak from the heart; to be open and honest with each other and to not have to fear the consequences beyond a sharp retort here or there. It gave her a sense of family, one she would miss dearly when they finally went their separate ways.

Two thick accents spoke quietly beyond the white canvas. Leliana and Zevran were still awake. It wasn't unusual; they were like owls, the pair of them. Leliana preferred one of the night watches to have time for quiet reflection, while Zevran took the other late night watch stating that he would be up anyway. Valeria sighed and nuzzled further into Alistair's embrace, willing sleep to come.

"-quite surprised. It seems the Chantry Boy has truly come into his own." Zevran's words caught up her ear, and she listened with detached curiosity.

"How do you mean?" Leliana asked, a little absently. Valeria could picture the woman engrossed in the task of fletching arrows as she engaged in polite conversation. She waited for the sound of whetstone on blade – Zevran often honed his weapons on watch.

"Come now. Surely you have already spoken to our esteemed leader about the wardens' time with a certain… duelist." Wood clattered against stone beyond their canvas shelter and Valeria's breath hitched.

"_You_-" Leliana caught herself and lowered her voice to nearly a whisper. "You know about that?"

"Isabela and I have a history, one could say." Zevran said, clearly through a smile. "I recently had the pleasure of spending some time in her company again. She told me of an evening just days passed in which she… entertained… two Ferelden Grey Wardens. As there are only two Grey Wardens left native to this country, naturally I was able to deduce who she spoke of." Zevran chuckled heartily. "For all they discourage speaking of the passionate arts, clearly they have no trouble practicing them with a master."

Valeria's face flared hot and she instantly felt like digging a hole within her tent and tunneling out of camp unnoticed.

Around her shoulders, muscular arms tensed, and the heartbeat against her shoulder tripped.

"Oh no…"

"Maker's Breath," Alistair's voice breathed in her ear, "you _told_ _Leliana_? And tell me I did not just hear that _he_ knows Isabela." Valeria's hands reached up to cover her face as she stifled her embarrassment.

"-think it's wonderful that they can share such an open sense of adventure." Leliana was saying diplomatically. "It speaks highly of the trust they have in each other."

"What it speaks of," Zevran pointed out, "is that our little Ferelden Wardens are not quite as proper as they would have us believe. Valeria… yes, she has spirit. Her break from the mundane does not surprise me so much as it intrigues. Chantry boy, however…" Zevran chuckled and Alistair groaned in Valeria's ear. "Perhaps I could arrange for an invitation to their next festivities." The elf continued obliviously.

"They won't invite you, Zevran," Leliana's voice was flat. "You're far too deviant for their tastes, I'm sure." Zevran laughed heartily.

"My dear Leliana," he chortled, "if you knew Isabela, you would know that the woman is the very definition of deviant. Why the things that she did with them-"

Valeria roughly pulled the blanket up over her head; pressing the fabric to her ears. At her side, Alistair was rolling onto his stomach, burying his face into his pillow. She didn't hear this. _She wasn't hearing this! _

"Zevran!" Through the blanket Valeria could still hear Leliana's words. "Really! Have you no respect for their privacy?"

"Ho-ho! So demands the woman who undoubtedly engaged in fits of girlish giggles with our lovely warden as she confided her adventures in promiscuity to you."

"But not in detail!" Leliana argued, outraged. "She only told me that she and Alistair had… enjoyed the company of another woman. She was pleased to have been able to give such pleasure to the man she loves."

"And how I wished she loved me as passionately," Zevran sighed, "oh the thought of those women taking me as they did the Chantry Boy-"

"I told you they would talk!" Alistair bemoaned to his lover plaintively. "What did I say? That very first night I told you they would talk!"

"I remember!" Valeria hissed. "Don't pretend to be the innocent victim here – you could have said no."

"Riiiiight," the templar countered, "because I stood a nug's chances in the deep roads of being strong enough to turn down the pair of you, all naked and-" his words died, and he pressed a hand to Valeria's lips when she pulled the blanket from her head to find out why he stopped in mid-thought.

"Well, go on," an Antivan accent spoke from just outside their tent. "All naked and _what_?" Beyond him, they could hear Leliana moan in dread; clearly knowing what was to come.

Her blood set to a rolling boil and Valeria sat up, retrieving The Rose's Thorn from beside her pillow. "This is the part where I'm supposed to feed him to the darkspawn, right?"

Alistair eyed the shadow darkening the canvas flap heatedly. "That was the plan, yes." He growled.

"On it." Valeria crawled over the templar's reclined body towards the tent exit with murder in her thoughts.

She listened to a velvet chuckle as it hurried away from their shelter, deciding that their family would not suffer if it lost just _one_ member...

_Fin_

**Just a little something that popped into my head. Lucky it did so today – I was getting ready to start posting the chapters that mark "the point of no return" in the plotline. Yes… we are coming close, aren't we? **


	13. When His First Became His Second

**And so we come to the beginning of the end…**

**When His First Became His Second**

He stood in perfect silence, willing time to turn back about fifteen seconds so he could be certain he had heard right. He _had_ heard right, hadn't he? He hadn't suddenly and inexplicable gone mad and imagined it, had he?

"This is where I wake up usually," he muttered to himself under his breath. "Or where everyone points and laughs because I have no clothes on." Anora, who had been standing close enough to hear, gave him a scathing look, thick with disgust, and Alistair then realized he wasn't dreaming; he had heard correctly.

"_Alistair will be king, and I'll rule beside him."_

Valeria had proposed marriage! At the Landsmeet! In front of the every noble and official in the lands! It was nothing like he had dreamt it. To begin with, when he had dreamt of this moment it had always been him proposing to her. And Morrigan had always been standing before them, so that she could gag and drop dead from disgust. That had always been a nice little side to the dream.

Yet this, this was so much… _more_. She had stood before the world and announced herself to be his and only his, and had done so with such confidence she had almost dared the world to deny her. With her declaration, every worry he held about promising a future to her was cast aside. Yet it wasn't the cracking of resolve he had once imagined it to be, or the breaking of his strength. It came to him instead like a revelation:

_Other Grey Wardens had been married. Why not us? _

Alistair knew he would face any who argued against their decision to wed. He and Valeria were already sacrificing enough – old age, their likelihood of having children, possibly their lives.

This was one sacrifice Alistair decided he was no longer willing to make.

"You'll have to do something about her, Alistair," Valeria's voice broke his thoughts, bringing him back to reality and the situation at hand. His glance slid across the faces of those in the chamber, noticing many of them had their eyes on Anora.

Ah yes… _her_. "I suppose that's true," he muttered, unsure what he had missed in his daydreaming. What an auspicious start to his new rule, he thought, immediately angry at having caught himself behaving like a love-struck youth. Valeria expected more of him – he would not let her down, and harshly scolded himself to behave properly and prove that her trust in him was not misplaced.

Those lovely emerald eyes caught his and something shifted there. She seemed almost wary; nervous. Had he said something wrong? No, not that he could see. Eamon was talking of saving Ferelden from civil war, and that Anora was a threat. Of course he would have to do something with her.

"Put her in the tower for now," Alistair announced firmly, sighting a taste of her own medicine was exactly what the treacherous woman needed. An execution was probably coming; Anora would never willingly release the throne to him. But as long as there was a chance he could die, someone had to be there to lead the kingdom, and presently there were no other alternatives but her.

When Eamon requested he address the Landsmeet in the capacity of their new king, Alistair felt himself swept along into the riptide of royal responsibilities. He was newly engaged, and he hadn't even acknowledged his appreciation to his future bride! It felt like a slight against Valeria, but she had announced him king and he vowed he would conduct himself as such if only to prove her judgment sound.

Trying not to appear as distracted as he felt, Alistair began speaking on his father, and on his commitment to ending the Blight; working out the plans as he went and trying to stammer as little as possible. It would do no good if the Landsmeet believed they had just placed a simpleton on the throne. Alistair announced Eamon's regency in his absence; and as he gestured to the arl the blood splatters upon his gauntlets caught his attention. Yes, there would be the matter of Loghain's successor to address as well.

An idea struck him; one that he had to consciously keep from grinning at.

_Of course!_

"And Valeria, my fellow Grey Warden will, I hope, take up Loghain's place at my side as the leader of my armies." With the exception of King, there was no title of greater political power in the land. Not even Queen Consort, the title she would soon inherit as his wife, would have granted Valeria the authority he was offering her now.

If Alistair was to have Valeria at his side, he wanted the world to know just how important she was; and how much she was trusted. He knew that she would not abuse such power, as Loghain had. In Valeria's hands the armies would serve their people justly, and Ferelden's security was assured.

It would also secure her the throne against Anora if he was lost. Both women were daughters of lost teryns. Very soon both would have wed a king. Yet with this new appointment, Valeria would hold a position of power Anora could not touch, thereby guaranteeing her place as the successor to the throne against the former queen. Better Valeria take the throne than a woman quick to betray those who called her ally.

He turned to his beloved, noticing something in her eyes; something he had not expected. Distress.

"I could do no less, My King." She said in a strangely dispassionate voice, bowing formally.

With a growing sense of dread, Alistair completed his speech. He needed to talk to Valeria, to find out what troubled her so much. He did not want to say anything sentimental with Eamon and other nobles hovering so closely; he feared it would do more harm to Valeria's credibility than good. Catching her gaze, Alistair tried to tell her without words that she should wait for him. He spoke quickly, dismissing the Landsmeet – the very idea that he was now capable of dismissing the entire Landsmeet boggling him – affirming that there was still much to do.

Eamon caught his arm, praising him on a job well done. There was a beam in the elder man's eyes that spoke of something close to pride. Alistair thanked his former guardian, turned back to lead Valeria from the chamber-

And found she was already gone.

XXXX

Valeria stood in her room, silent amidst the muted chatter of her companions. It… it hadn't gone at all as she had hoped.

He hadn't seemed happy in the least. And what had she expected?

Valeria had known all along that Anora was not an option. She hadn't needed to speak to either of the potential rulers to know her decision. It had to be Alistair, no matter how loath he was to take the throne. Anora was deceitful and self serving; if granted the throne there was no telling how she would abuse it. Valeria thought that by tying herself to him in this, by sharing the burden of ruling a nation, it would help to lessen the pressure for him. She wanted him to know he wouldn't have to be alone in this.

And when she had spoken to him next, suggesting he address the situation of Anora, Alistair had looked at her with so much ire she had wanted to shrink into her armor and vanish.

Finally, as though to make it obvious how deeply she had betrayed him, instead of accepting her proposal or acknowledging it in any way, Alistair had brushed it off, decreeing her the head of his armies instead. Not Queen Consort. Not his future bride; only the head of his armies. It was a convenient way to allow Valeria to be at his side as she had announced, thereby honoring the mediator's decree without having to actually marry her.

Oh Maker, what had she been thinking! Alistair was always reminding her that he could not promise her a life together after this, that he could make no guarantees either of them would survive to see that future. And she had then cornered him at the Landsmeet of all places, proposing marriage in the one place it would do the most harm to look foolish!

Valeria wanted to leave - now. Leave her chambers; the city; the region if she could! Anything to keep from having to face the betrayal of trust she had caused with him.

What a romantic simpleton she had been!

The door to her chambers burst open only a few moments after the group had gathered in her chambers, and Alistair marched in briskly. The room went silent, and Valeria resisted the urge to ask everyone to leave. If she was about to be humiliated than let it be publicly, as his had been. It was the least she owed him.

"So, strange story, and tell me if you've heard this one," he said in a light tone that for Alistair could either mean good humor or thick sarcasm, "this fellow gets made king and then gets engaged all in the same night." Valeria's nerves felt raw and abused. She couldn't make up or down of his current mood.

"You're angry, aren't you?" She could barely force out the words. Alistair shook his head.

"I'm actually fine with becoming king." He admitted as though the idea surprised him. "I've been considering it for a while; ever since we escaped from the tower. I knew then, Anora couldn't be allowed to take the throne, and Eamon had already made it very clear he would not make a play for the throne personally. I… I knew it had to be me. It terrified me at first. But now the more I think on it, the more I can think that I might actually be able to do some good.

"I suppose I'm more curious about…" his eyes dropped for a moment to his feet, "you know; the engagement. I like the idea, but-"

Valeria's heart stopped. "You like the idea?" She croaked. Alistair gave her a small lopsided smile.

"Truth be told I'm thrilled with it." He admitted. "But… are _you_ sure?"

His words made no sense, not when she paired them with what he had said in the past, and then at the Landsmeet… "But you… didn't you elect me to lead the armies so you wouldn't have to marry me or defy my edict?"

"I… oh Maker, is _that_ what you thought?" Alistair stepped forward and took her cheek gently in one hand. "My dear, I named you my second so that if I fell you could take the throne from Anora. Even though we are not yet married, now that you lead Ferelden's armies you hold more authority than she ever will." He ran a thumb along her skin affectionately, and tears welled within Valeria's eyes. "You never answered me, you know." He reminded her quietly.

"Am I sure I want to marry you?" She whispered and he nodded slightly. "Yes." She breathed, wondering how he could not know this already.

Alistair's expression darkened and Valeria waited for him to tell her exactly why they couldn't marry. It was all too wonderful to be real, she understood. Of course this couldn't happen. "They'll expect an heir you know." He said at last, not bothering to elaborate on who 'they' were. "It's hard enough for one Grey Warden to have a child. For two…"

Valeria swallowed hard, hoping to free her voice from its prison of shock. "Well then…" she managed with a self conscious shrug, "it doesn't have to be for lack of trying." It was a pathetic attempt at humor, but Alistair's smile returned.

"That's an excellent point." He replied brightly. "Good thing we got started when we did." A chuckle lilted from behind Valeria's back and she noted Alistair's ears tinge red. Apparently she had not been the only one to forget they were not alone.

"I, uh," he cleared his throat nervously – his cheeks tinting to match his ears, "I suppose this is something we'll have to deal with later. My coronation isn't going to happen for some time, and we still have darkspawn to fight…" With a glance to the small crowd beyond Valeria's shoulder, Alistair quickly launched into a debriefing for his companions of their impending march against the archdemon. No doubt it was more a ploy for deflection as they had attended the Landsmeet as well and were already aware of what was to transpire. Yet no one interrupted, and Alistair was able to continue his speech until the last of the embarrassment had faded from his complexion.

With that he turned his back, as though ready to leave. Making it halfway to the door, he glanced over his shoulder and cocked an eyebrow.

"What, no stopping me for a kiss?" He taunted a very mute female warden. "No words of endearment, on this the first night of our engagement?" Valeria opened her mouth, dumbstruck that she had not thought to throw herself at him and rain a thousand kisses upon his face. He had forgiven her for ambushing him in front of all of those people; she should-

"I… ah… think I can earn that kiss if you'll let me." He went on, returning to stand before her as his fingers bumbling nervously over his armor.

"What are you talking about?" Valeria asked, puzzled. "Why would you have to earn-" and suddenly she forgot how to ply her tongue into forming words.

From his coin pouch, Alistair produced the finest ring she'd ever laid eyes on.

"I… debated for the longest time on having it enchanted first," Alistair prattled softly. "I thought that maybe… this way… you'd let something of me be a shield for you again."

It made no sense. Valeria's mind spun, pulling all thoughts down to uselessness like a whirlpool. How did Alistair have a ring? How had he thought of enchanting it for so long? He hadn't known she was going to propose tonight. She hadn't even known. _Why did Alistair have a ring?_

"You don't like it," his voice was heavy with poorly veiled remorse. "I thought it might have been a bit much when I first saw it in Orzammar, but-"

Orzammar. Of course – that would explain the craftsmanship. But that would mean…

"We haven't been there in months." She whispered, and the tears in her eyes began to win their battle for freedom. He'd planned to marry her for months; perhaps longer. And she had never known. "Constitution." She managed to croak at last.

Alistair's brow puckered as he pulled himself from thoughts of his own. "What?"

Valeria took a breath to stabilize her voice. "Have it enchanted with constitution." With trembling fingers, she removed her glove and held out her hand. Alistair's face lit with relief.

"Ah, but if I put it on you now, how will I have it enchanted?" He teased, waggling his gift before her enticingly. Yet as Valeria considered that he had made a valid point, her hand was plucked into his, and the ring slid onto her finger. With seemingly reverent care, he reached out and took his future bride into his arms, apparently no longer embarrassed at having an audience.

"We'll just have to send for Sandal later." He whispered, and lowered his lips to hers.

XXXX

**Don't you think after such a tormented courtship there should have been more to the engagement scene? I certainly did. It was all very business-like. "Hello. How do you do? Thank you for naming me king. Of course we shall marry. Now on to the war plans. Blah-blah-blah…" Whatever. No. I'm a fan-girl. Fan-girls have to get squealy and stupid. This is where I took it. Hope you like it. :o)**


	14. The Best Intentions Cut the Deepest

**The Best Intentions Cut the Deepest**

His first reaction would have been to retch. No hesitation, just dinner revisited right there upon his boots. Yet somehow Alistair kept hold of the last shred of his failing self control. Perhaps it was because he had tried to steel himself for this all along. He became a statue, unmoving and silent, as Riordan explained why one of them would die tomorrow.

Preparing for it and knowing it as an unavoidable reality were two entirely differently things, he suddenly realized.

He was acutely aware of Valeria beside him, her body rigid, her teeth clenched so tightly he could hear the creak of them grinding together. Her fists trembled slightly, though her expression was almost unemotional, save for the merciless bulge of her flexed jaw.

"As senior warden, I will be the one to strike the killing blow," Riordan announced after his lesson on 'how to die for mankind' had finished. His self-appointment should have comforted the future king, yet it didn't. For a reason unknown to him, Alistair just didn't see it ending as cleanly as all that. Pessimism was not something he normal embraced so fully, but somehow… he really doubted this would be left to Riordan in the end. "Of course, if something should happen to me-"

"Don't worry," Alistair's voice was flat, "we've come too far to give up now." Valeria nodded and spoke in a voice that was soft but resolute.

"I will follow through if you cannot," she assured the Orlesian, and with those words Alistair's insides froze. Her hand was between their faces in an instant, having guessed he was about to argue her decision – _strongly_. "You have a kingdom to rule when this is over, Alistair. Ferelden… will need you."

"A wise argument," Riordan confirmed, and Alistair shook his head violently.

"You're always doing this – deciding my future without me!" It had not bothered him so much in the past; her reasoning had always been sound, sometimes aggravatingly so. But now she was planning to die for him; not for Ferelden. That was something he would never agree to. _Never_. "Don't I get a say here? What makes you so much more expendable than me? My birthright? Take it! I don't care – I never wanted it to begin with! _You_ take the throne! You're a Teryna and leader of Ferelden's arm-"

"You're not…" her voice cracked and Alistair almost crumbled with it, "you're talking nonsense, Alistair." Without considering the other man in the room, Valeria took the templar's hands into hers, one glove bulging oddly over a ring recently enchanted with constitution. "I know you care. The Maker knows I do. But we always swore that duty would come first. And now we must keep that promise; first to mankind as a whole, and then to Ferelden. That means that when all is said and done, your life must come before mine. I know you see that, Alistair, even if you don't want to." Valeria turned and nodded to Riordan. "You have our word, we will not fail tomorrow."

"Of course," the older man's voice was full of understanding and sympathy. Alistair wanted to throttle him for the display. He wanted to demand that Riordan keep his cursed pity and just do his job by landing the killing blow. He wanted this man to do what Alistair himself couldn't – save Valeria's life.

But instead he bit down upon his tongue until the senior warden had excused himself from the room. When Riordan was gone and the door clicked shut quietly, Valeria's exhale escaped in a shuddering sigh.

"We have a lot to do," she murmured after a moment of silence, in which Alistair couldn't bring himself to speak. Not this time. What words could make this right? Even 'I love you' would only drive the knife further into her heart. "We have to see that the people are properly evacuated, and divide our comrades into battle parties for tomorrow."

"You and I go together," Alistair interrupted quietly, "I'll not hear any arguments on that." Valeria's smirk held no humor, but plenty of sadness.

"Of course," she said, "if that's what you need."

"Don't." It was impossible for him to swallow; he couldn't make his throat work. "Don't talk like you're going to… Riordan claimed first right, remember." Valeria nodded.

"You're right, I know." She reached up and caressed his cheek, her eyes trailing over his face as though trying to commit every detail to memory. Alistair knew that for as long as he lived he would remember everything about her; every detail of her face. He'd spent many a night watching her as she slept for… for just such an occasion. Only somehow, he'd always planned on being the one who would fall.

"We should go," she announced, breaking the connection, "I'll need to get the armies prepared. They are my responsibility now, aren't they?" She tried to muster a more earnest smile this time. "You'll need to see to coordinating our incoming allies and making certain their armies are ready. I'll take care of our group; don't worry about them."

"Tonight then?" He reached out and tucked a loose lock behind her ear. She was always so practical. She never faltered in her responsibility to others. How he wished she would just agree to take the throne from him. She would be better at it; between the pair of them, she had always been the natural leader. Valeria nodded, her jaw clenching once more.

"Of course." She whispered and gave him a little push to the door. Alistair leaned in to give her a slow, sweet kiss and then obediently turned and left the room.

The latch closed quietly behind him, but Alistair could not bring himself to move from where he stood in the corridor. He debated on going in for one more kiss. For something, _anything_-

-when the most pitiful sob warbled through the thick wooden door. A heaving breath was immediately followed with another sob.

And then silence.

Alistair removed trembling fingers from the door latch, his stomach clenching to strangle back a moan or sob – he wasn't certain what it would have been; he only knew that _she_ couldn't hear _him_. He would not put that upon her.

His eyes burned fiercely and with one slow step and then another, Alistair forced himself to move down the hallway and away from the room that presently held his heart.

XXXX

Valeria was exhausted. Not physically as much as emotionally. She'd organized the armies, divided their companions into the appropriate battle parties and even seen to welcoming one of the Dalish Clans that had been delayed in arriving and had missed their meeting with Alistair. She'd endured her friends' sad expressions and words of reassurance, all without shedding a tear or losing her composure once – a marvelous fete on here part. All in all they were as prepared as they could possibly be, and her roles in the day's activities were at an end. And so when the knock at her chamber doors came, she wasn't certain she intended to answer.

"'Tis only I," Morrigan called and Valeria rose from her pillows, inviting her friend in. Despite her desire to be alone, she could use a friend right now, she knew. The apostate entered the room and made herself comfortable in an empty chair. For a time the witch only looked at Valeria, but the warden did not flinch or become uncomfortable. She was used to Morrigan's eccentricities by now, and understood that her companion was trying to be polite and not jump straight into the matter at hand.

"I know what troubles you," she said at last, and Valeria was not surprised to hear compassion in her voice. Morrigan was a woman with human emotions, as much as she tried to pretend she wasn't. "And I believe… I know how to help."

"Help?" Valeria frowned. "What do you mean? How?"

"What if tomorrow the archdemon could be slain and yet no Grey Warden need fall with it?" Morrigan asked. Valeria's fingers reached her lips.

"You… could do that?"

Morrigan's head dipped; clearly her conscience was being testing in making this offer. Possessing a conscience was a new concept to Morrigan, but one she was free to exercise with Valeria. "'Tis within my power, yes." She said softly and without meeting Valeria's eyes.

Blood magic. It had to be. Valeria's mouth prepared to form the refusal, yet her heart wouldn't let her say the words. Blood magic was wrong; it was immoral and dangerous and always cost more than the benefit was worth… and yet…

Morrigan was offering the chance to save their lives. She was offering Valeria and Alistair the chance at a life after the Blight – a life together. With the exception of the end of the Blight, there was nothing Valeria wanted more.

Wynne's cautionary tales entered her mind. Their ordeal in cleansing the mage's tower of the aftermath of blood magic gone awry was still vivid even after so many months; and their liberation of the Warden's Keep even fresher in her memories. Blood magic was perilous. It was inherently wicked, regardless of the purpose it was employed for. It went against the Maker's teachings. It-

Morrigan's eyes were upon her once more; and if Valeria didn't know better, she would have sworn the apostate was frightened. She'd never seen this particular expression upon the witch's face before, and it concerned her greatly.

"I _can_ do this, my friend," Morrigan's voice quavered unsteadily. "Please… let me do this… for you."

Maker's Mercy, Valeria swore to herself, Morrigan was afraid – for _her_!

"Tell me what you would need." She whispered at last, defeated.

XXXX

When Valeria first told him that no warden need die with the archdemon tomorrow, Alistair first thought she was suggesting that they run. It wasn't even plausible, coming from her, but it was the only option he could think of.

When Morrigan's name was next uttered, the hairs at the back of his neck stood on end, yet he had chuckled, trying to turn it into a joke. He didn't want to consider it otherwise.

And when Valeria at last revealed exactly how they could survive…

"You're not…" he tried very hard to keep his voice neutral, "you're not joking are you? What… kind of ritual is this?" Valeria grimaced, her already pale complexion becoming ashen. Alistair leaned forward, worried that she would faint.

"She said," the usually sturdy woman swallowed the waver in her voice, "that it was ancient magic. Maker brand me a fool, but I won't lie to you. There would probably be a child."

"_What!_" His voice reverberated against the walls of their chambers, and Valeria flinched at the sound. "Why?" He continued, oblivious to her distress. "Why does she want such a thing? Does she want an heir to the throne?"

"She said she would want only to disappear when this is over," his betrothed whispered, "and for us not to seek her out."

"Right, not until she comes traipsing up to the castle walls with an army of conjured monsters and a bastard heir to the throne!" He was livid at the witch's audacity. Alistair knew that Morrigan was evil, but to suggest something so… so cruel to Valeria–

The female warden shook her head. "She wouldn't do that. Morrigan isn't interested in the world of men."

"No, only power." He snorted in contempt. "The kind of power an apostate queen might wield, one could say." Valeria did not reply, but her silence did nothing to quell his anger. Damn that conniving witch for preying on them now. He'd always known she couldn't be trusted, but Valeria had called her friend. The betrayal of that trust angered him more than anything else. _Damn that hag!_

"Suppose for one moment that I would consider this," he nearly growled, "and I'm not saying I would, is this what you want? Are you _really_ asking me to do this?"

"I…" She exhaled heavily. "No, I'm not. I wouldn't ask that of you. I _couldn't_. I just… I'm sorry, Alistair, I should never have brought this up to you. I'll go inform Morrigan."

"No," Alistair stood, practically knocking his chair over as he rose, "I will tell her. _Alone_. I want to make certain we are very, _very_ clear on this." And without a glance back at Valeria, Alistair marched from their chambers and to the suite in which Morrigan had been assigned.

XXXX

Of course she was there. She had been expecting them, after all, and so Alistair felt no qualms about entering without so much as a warning knock at the door.

"I trust a decision has been made?" The apostate didn't even turn from the fire upon the hearth.

"I need to know why." Alistair demanded, slamming the door shut violently behind him. "Why the child? Why the offer? Why bring _her_ into this?" He gestured angrily to the door. "What is it you're bloody after, Morrigan?" The witch turned on him slowly, her stare was colder than any of her blizzard attacks could have ever been.

"Truly, I would have thought your first question would have been 'Can you promise this will save her?'" Morrigan kept her voice calm and composed; which meant she was fighting at her dirtiest. "A worthy husband-to-be would have thought first of his bride, and then of himself. Especially when of the pair of you, t'would be she who would fall with the beast." Alistair balked. Leave it to Morrigan to find exactly the right words to flay him with; it was a talent she had honed like a fine blade.

"Riordan has claimed the deathblow," he corrected, trying to sound confident in the outcome. It was a pathetic argument and like a cat pouncing upon a mouse, Morrigan drew in close to him, the ire in her eyes dancing like the flames at her back.

"Riordan," she let the name fall off of her tongue like an obscenity, "is decrepit. A relic of your order. Oh he may be able to fight off the occasional darkspawn, or even a score of them. But look at his aging body and at the way the taint is rapidly overpowering him. And let us not forget the time he spent in Howe's dungeons and the toll that took upon his strengths. Consider all of these things and then tell me you believe him capable of defeating the archdemon tomorrow. Tell me you would stake _her_ life on his success."

"And so I should stake her life on _you_, instead?" He sneered. "Let's face it Morrigan, when it comes to loyalty, your history for it is sorely lacking. Let's just ask your _mother_, for example." Let her raise spells against him; let her fly into a fury, he thought.

_Just give me one last reason to dispatch you here and now. _

"The difference being that my mother planned to eventually end my life, where as Valeria has gone out of her way to help preserve it."

"Oh, so that's what this is? Gratitude?" He demanded fiercely. "'I'm so grateful you saved my life, Valeria, that I'm going to take the child that should have been yours and disappear with it forever!'"

"Do you think I relish the idea of tormenting her in such a way?" Morrigan's voice rose emotionally before regaining her poise quickly. She moved over to the bed and lowered herself gracefully to the mattress, affecting an air of equanimity once more.

"When mother sent me off with you, t'was indeed for this purpose." She admitted. "I had no intentions of befriending any of you; I was here to accomplish my objective and nothing more. But _she_ persisted." Sorrow briefly crossed the apostate's face – so briefly Alistair wondered if it had been there at all. "Her ceaseless need to see after my comforts, to speak with me of simple things, the… baubles and the trinkets and the carefree chatter…" Alistair was confronted once more with Morrigan's despair for it returned and remained long enough to be identified. "I'd… never known someone like that before.

"Tell me Alistair," Morrigan spoke after recovering her self-possession, but without the callous detachment she so often clung to. "You find it so difficult to believe that I could grow fond of her. Yet out of all of the women you have encountered through your life, only _she_ was worthy of your love?" She did not wait for his response, and it was just as well, for he didn't have one to offer. "You demonstrate your love for her with words and deeds and gifts that please her. It is… easy for you." She grimaced, clearly understanding she had come very close to paying him a compliment. "But this…" she raised a hand weakly, "this is all I have to offer her. My one and only token of friendship, twisted though it may be."

Damn her for making sense, he thought. Damn her for using the woman he loved as a tool to get what she wanted.

And damn him for playing into it. "And your alternative… would save her?"

"T'would only prevent the soul of the victor from being decimated as the archdemon perishes." Morrigan clarified. "Beyond that, your skill as fighters will be what truly keeps you alive."

"And the child…" he ran a hand over his face, unable to believe what he was considering, "it won't be used later… against Ferelden? It won't show up years down the road and try to take the throne? Or to remind her of what she may never have?"

"Of that you have my word."

His stomach started to roil, not unlike earlier when Riordan told him that the warden who slays the archdemon dies. He felt it very possible that he would vomit. Everything about this woman repulsed him; even her appearance, which could have been considered lovely by some, had been spoiled in his eyes by the cruelty within. He wondered how exactly he was supposed to uphold his role in this ritual when he lacked the necessary… motivation. _ No doubt Morrigan has a remedy for that little issue_, he thought bitterly.

His eyes strayed to the door behind him; solid and firmly closed. No one would dare enter Morrigan's rooms uninvited; not even Valeria.

_Valeria_… his heart twisted within him. No matter what path he took tonight, he knew that he stood a very strong chance of losing her tomorrow.

The choice was his as to how he lost her. Her face entered his thoughts. Her smile. Her laugh. The light dancing brightly within her eyes when he had given her the rose…

Alistair fought the urge to weep.

"Let's… just get this over with," he murmured at last, "before I change my mind."

XXXX

Valeria had thought to go looking for him, except that his mood had been so dark when he had stormed from their chambers, she was almost afraid to confront him. She decided to let the discussion drop. Whatever happened tomorrow would happen. As a Grey Warden this was her duty, and she would carry it out regardless of the outcome.

Instead she had crawled beneath the coverlets of their sprawling bed – their first _true_ bed together – and made an attempt at sleep. It hurt to think that what could possibly be their last night together had been ruined; tainted, like the blood in her veins. At least her exhaustion had been good for something, for it quickly took her from her misery and into the Fade where she could forget.

Sometime later, it had to have been hours, the door clicked open softly behind her. Valeria awoke to the feel of the bed dipping beneath her; and of shaky breath at her back. Peering over her shoulder, the lingering glow of the coals upon the hearth gave off just enough light to allow her a view of the top of Alistair's head, his face tucked from her view; one trembling hand raised as though he wanted to reach out and hold her, but dared not touch her.

She fought a surge of panic. "Alistair?" At her whisper the man she loved pulled his outstretched hand back to himself, and Valeria lost her battle against the fear. She twisted round and cupped his head between her hands, forcing his face up to her. He struggled against her until at last she fisted his hair roughly and pulled his face level to hers. "What is it?" She asked nervously, "Alistair, tell me what's wrong."

"I… I won't ask… for you to forgive me…" he shook his head feebly from within her grasp. "I don't have the right…"

"Forgive you? Maker's Mercy, Alistair, you're fright-"

"I completed Morrigan's ritual." His harsh whisper broke her words and her thoughts. "I... took her to bed… gave her the child she wanted…" Valeria's stomach twisted into knots and for a time she was speechless.

"Why?" She could not raise her voice above a whisper. "Why did you change your mind?" His expression was one of abject pain.

"Because," his voice trembled, "I can't bear the thought of a world where you don't exist," he admitted. "I would give anything, _do_ anything, to end the Blight without losing you to this world, even if I must lose your trust."

"You… laid with Morrigan… for me?"

His eyes closed tightly, his jaw clenching with it, yet he said nothing. Carefully Valeria disentangled her fingers from his hair, softly smoothing the strands back into place with her palms. Alistair's eyes opened and he gazed at her in disbelief. His lips parted but she placed a hand over his mouth before he could speak.

She had to think for a moment to get the words right, and to keep the foolish, stupid jealousy out of her voice. She had no right to be jealous – not after what he had just gone through for her sake. She continued to pet his hair tenderly as she thought. The torment in his eyes was enough to give her emotions the footing they required.

"Had you done this out of desire for Morrigan, I could never have forgiven you." She whispered at last, meeting his eyes purposefully. "Had you done this out of love for her, I would have immediately left your side forever – Blight or no." It was juvenile, and it was self-indulgent, but it was also true; she would not lie to him. "I probably would have left if it had only been for desire. I… I don't know for certain.

"But you…" she went on, "you did it because, despite how you hate her, you believe it would save _me_. No matter how much I regret telling you, nothing will change why you did it. And for that, I will never, _never_ fault you for what you did this night. And until I take my dying breath, I will love you as completely as I did the moment you gave me my ring." For a long time Alistair laid there, watching her with such a pained expression she wondered if perhaps he thought she was tormenting him with sarcasm.

"How?" He whispered before she could affirm her sincerity, his eyes darting from one green orb to another. "How can you be so quick to forgive?" Against her pillow Valeria shrugged.

"I once asked you, if a fit of selfish tears, to never let me be without you. I guess… this was just your way of holding to my request." She smirked contritely. "Perhaps next time I'll know to be more specific about the boundaries I'd expect you not to cross." His hand reached up and caught her wrist gently.

"If there had been any other way-"

"I _know_, Alistair," she whispered, "I know." She leaned in to kiss his cheek softly and grimaced. "Now, can we please bathe you? I'll not sleep in the same bed with a man who smells of spell work and another woman." Alistair blanched.

"We?" He asked cautiously. Valeria smiled for him, resolved that if this was possibly to be their final night together, she'd not let him waste it wallowing in regret.

"Of course 'we'," she replied. "If we die in battle tomorrow, I want to die knowing that the last female hands to touch your body were _mine_."

"Maker," Alistair frowned, "you can't possibly be jealous of _Morrigan_, can you?"

"Jealous? No." She murmured, running fingers through his hair tenderly, mussing his tresses as only she was allowed to do. "But I admit, I intend on reclaiming what is mine from her before the night is out."

Weakly, Alistair smiled and, despite the unpleasant scents that clung to him, Valeria pressed in against him for another deep kiss.

Because _he_ was worth it.

_Fin_

XXXX

**Okay, the last part was me putting it out there that I – and by extension, Valeria – are both territorial little snots. Their last night together and **_**Morrigan**_** was the last person to sleep with him? I think not! Of course the lovebirds got freaky, but I couldn't make a lemon mesh with the emotions of this chapter, so I left it implied. You'll just have to use your imaginations, people. ;o)**


	15. I Am the One

**Oh hell… I'm doing it again. No patience! ZERO! How do I expect to get feedback on other chapters if I keep posting multiples at once? Plus Gamine had to go and die on me when I said this chapter was ready and I was holding out, so I caved in and posted it immediately. Arise, Gamine! **

**Remember to go back leave feedback for Chapter 14, **_**please**_**. I'm trying to grow as a writer and I need feed-back to know what I need to improve on or what I've gotten a pretty good grip on already. **

**Anyway… so in naming this chapter I am totally robbing from the game's soundtrack, but whatever – it soooo works here. I had to, it was a compulsion. **

**And so without further ado…**

**I Am the One**

He watched in horror as she flew like a ragdoll through the air; her limbs and torso still arcing with the discharged energies of the dying behemoth.

He watched as she collided head-first with the unforgiving stone and mortar of the tower's reinforced walls; watched as her scarlet blood spattered vividly onto the pale bricks where her burned and broken body had struck.

He watched, as she dropped lifelessly to the equally merciless stonework of the tower's great terrace.

Alistair watched… as his world unraveled around him.

XXXX

_Two lifetimes and one battle earlier…_

XXXX

Its roar curdled her blood. Before her the thing of their nightmares stood in all of its terrible power, larger than anything she had ever faced before and more terrifying in ferocity. Valeria's mouth hung open; she could not even think to hide the panic that welled within her.

Maker's Everlasting Mercy, she wanted to _run_! She prayed aloud for leniency, for deliverance; the blades of her daggers trembling in her grip. They were pathetically small, her weapons – she didn't see how they would be of any use against this… this…

The archdemon bellowed again and more than in her ears, Valeria heard its murderous intent within her mind. It wanted her death. She could feel its need to taste her blood; to feel her bones crunching between its teeth; to hear her gurgling final screams. Its loathing of the Grey Wardens consumed it. Alistair swore in horror beside her and that terrible gaze moved to the templar. Within her mind, similar images depicting her beloved's end filled her thoughts.

…_no… No. No!_ She found sanity in her inner rebellion._ You cannot have him! He is __**mine**__!_ At last she had something to anchor to and her thoughts screamed in defiance, willing the demon to hear. Rolling white eyes returned to her, challenging her thoughts; daring her to try and stop it.

_Just as we can sense them, they can sense us…_

"What are you doing?" Morrigan screeched from behind the Grey Wardens. "Do you intend on committing its image to memory, or will you be slaying the fiend today?" The demand brought Valeria back into reality; she remembered what it was that had to be done.

For this moment thousands had perished.

For this moment she had abandoned her family to their doom.

For this moment she had promised the forfeit of her life if necessary.

And in this moment, the weight of every decision she had made would be measured.

Valeria ground her teeth together. The trembling passed from her fingers.

She would not fail; not again. Her life's greatest mistakes would have meaning – _she would not let all of this sacrifice be for nothing!_

Faster than thought, she moved. Flames plumed and claws raked, yet still she moved. Spells of protection surrounded her while their destructive counterparts sped past her; her mages taking up their appointed tasks. Metal flashed beside her, blood red in the strange light, yet Valeria ignored it. He could not keep up with her; for she was speed; the balance to his strength. It was what made them so lethal together.

They could do this. They _must_!

The creature's abhorrence for them seeped into her, and she was no longer afraid. She let the emotion feed her, drive her, move her feet and wield her blades. Dragonbone weapons struck reptilian scales and sparks of purple and white flared brilliantly with each blow. She flurried and lashed out, her follow-up blows striking home before the sparks from their predecessors died. Scaled chipped and cracked away with every strike, proving that the beast was not as omnipotent as her mind had made it seem. Valeria spun round a great foreleg, dancing out of range of those massive, deformed fangs that came at her, slicing at the tendons behind the claw. Black blood speckled the pale stone and splashed against her armor.

The beast above her snarled.

A battle cry reverberated against the brickwork, caused the blood to surge within her veins; Alistair's call to arms spurring her along. She roared with him, sang with him; their duet of death penetrating the din of combat.

Valeria's movements stilled only when the air around her grew impossibly cold – a telltale that gave the Grey Wardens just enough notice to flee the area. Morrigan held nothing back, not even enough to spare her comrades. Valeria was accustomed to the apostate's survival tactics, though, and knew how to capitalize on them. She moved in upon her foe once more; daggers struck out, shattering great hunks of flesh from the archdemon's body. The monstrosity bellowed in rage as more chips of frozen scale and tissue bounced beneath the brute from its other side; Alistair exploited Morrigan's powerful freezing magic as well.

Pitching herself beneath the beast, the rogue began to slash at the underbelly, breaking open scales and exposing the soft flesh it had concealed. Wind and dust beat at her face when the body above her rose into the air, taking her target out of range. She screamed her outrage into the emptiness as upon massive wings the archdemon circled them.

Alistair seethed, caught up in the emotions of their foe and panting in almost maniacal hatred. He thrust the bloodstained blade Valeria had bequeathed him into the air; a wordless challenge breaking from him viciously. Valeria snarled like some feral creature, silently cursing the beast's cowardice; willing it to hear her mind as she railed at how it feared two mere humans. How pathetic it was! How weak!

Leathery wings folded in and the fiend dove at them with such speed as Valeria had never seen. Metal crushed down upon her and bare skin of arms and thighs abraded as Alistair threw the pair of them out of the dragon's path and sent them sliding across the wide stone pavers. The rogue warden was blind to the sting of her wounds, however.

Alistair coughed wetly from atop her and Valeria's view of him blurred as he was enveloped in Wynne's magic; the trickle of blood from his mouth and the indented armor at his back betraying he had taken the blow for both Wardens.

Valeria forgot to seethe at his broken vow, for a shadow ripped through the air from behind their foe as she opened her mouth to curse his foolishness. The archdemon crashed back to stone and mortar screaming, one grotesque wing crippled beyond use.

Her eyes darted to the source of the attack as she rose – the elves and dwarves were arriving; Dalish hunters and the Legion of the Dead – for none were worthier among the dwarves than they who were already dead to their kin, and none among the elves more skilled in the quick kill. Alistair's battle cry had at last been answered!

A small fist of elves had reached one of the tower's defensive ballista and had cleverly figured out the workings of the siege engine. Valeria crowed triumphantly as the newcomers worked to reload while others spread noxious liquids onto the projectile. Her gaze swung back to their nemesis, its attention caught by the hunters who worked at the mechanism in the distance.

_Come, come for me – I am the one you seek! _

The colossal head swiveled to her and Valeria charged it; dropping to her hip to slide beneath its throat as it lunged. Her daggers lifted and shaved away a long swath of protective scales, revealing a beating pulse beneath black skin.

_At last, a kill-point!_

Enchanted blades thrust upward and met only emptiness – the demon was aware of its weak-point now and had removed itself from her reach. They would have to open more. The dwarves were already upon the beast, relentless in their efforts to achieve their shared goal. Axes, war hammers and swords assaulted the archdemon from all sides.

An airy thud, a rush of wind, and reddish-purple blood struck her face and armor. The ballista had been fired once more and had gouged a long wound into the archdemon's rear flank and ribs. Valeria thought to make a play for the wound, yet the majority of the Legion was already there – their specifically enchanted weapons striking more damage than those belonging to the regular soldiers that had remained bellow to fend off the horde. The demon screamed such a sound Valeria found herself unable to move or even think for a moment.

The sinewy neck of their enemy stretched above her, and men screamed. Within her thoughts, Valeria felt the snapping of their bones; tasted their blood and knew disappointment that they were not the two so desperately hated. Stout bodies scattered and the fiend pursued, wanting to be rid of the nuisances.

Flames ignited into a dancing wall between the dwarves and their pursuer – greater than what any single mage could have summoned. Irving's most trusted were upon them at last and Wynne called to a few by name; shouting instructions. Valeria's wounds faded – by whom she did not know – and her fatigue wiped away. The mages held the fire wall to protect the injured but rather than attack most used their energies to heal the melee fighters and cast spells of defense. The most effective magical attacks were too dangerous to use with so many close-combat allies afoot, and the Circle mages did not share Morrigan's lack of restraint.

Axes chipped at the scales and the archdemon leapt back as Valeria rushed into the fray.

Careless. Too careless. A fore claw swept out, sending her hurtling through the air, but not before it raked great talons across her abdomen; ruining her armor and the flesh beneath. Yet she was aglow before she collided with the ground. Mages' healing powers enveloped her; closing wounds and knitting tissues until the small pool of blood that she lay in could have come from another; had it not been for the gaps in her leather coverings.

In her stead, Alistair and the dwarves were upon the dragon like wild dogs upon a wounded ox. They screamed and taunted and unleashed the fury of their orders onto the leader of the fiends they had sacrificed everything to battle. The noise of their cries was broken occasionally by the dull thud of the ballista as it hurled great bolts of flame or frost or whatever other atrocity the mages could grace the weapons with. The demon's claws swept out, its tail lashed and warriors fell rapidly; those that rose again glowing as the mages aided their efforts.

From the other side of the archdemon, Alistair stumbled to his feet, alight with the spell that had roused him from unconsciousness, his blood still streaming down the front of his mangled armor. He moved to charge back into the battle – and then stopped, his eyes seeking out and meeting her gaze.

_Yes_, she answered with only a look. She had sensed it as well. The taint. It was surrounding them like a swarm; like a dark cloud from beneath, rising up to greet them.

"We are not alone," she heard him growl in warning as she quickly glanced about the terrace, searching, "_really_ not alone!"

Darkspawn flocked to their great monarch's aid from every portal. Without spoken command The Legion of the Dead quickly altered tactics, moving to halt the intruders.

One of the dwarves raised his axe to her, and Valeria recognized Kardol from the deep roads. "Go Wardens," the man bellowed in a voice that was seemingly created for use in battle, "fulfill your purpose! We'll keep the vermin at bay!"

It was all she needed to hear. And she began hacking her way through the few darkspawn that had breached the dwarves' lines to stand between her and the dragon.

The ballista fired and the archdemon's remaining wing was shredded into worthlessness. The gargantuan head above her roared and wheeled, spewing purple flames again. Energies crackled to life; the mages shielded the machine and most of the elves, though the dying screams of a few pierced the din of battle.

Yet the beast had made a fatal error, and Valeria acted before she could think and betray herself to their foe. She rushed the dragon's chest; left open and unguarded while the beast attacked the machine which had crippled it. With every shred of strength she possessed, the female warden pushed her daggers through its scales and into its breast. Blood fountained over her arms and torso. Metal armor clattered to her side as Alistair made a play for the weak spot as well, burying an axe into the archdemon's chest – the sword Valeria had given him was nowhere to be seen.

Their foe screamed, thrashing its head and using its neck to sweep the Grey Wardens aside. Heels over head, Valeria was forcibly somersaulted away and came to a halt in time to watch a rolling mass of armor and flesh skid to a stop beside her; Alistair moaning and shaking his head dizzily.

Valeria pushed herself to her hands and knees, her temple throbbing as the vicious hate faded from her thoughts; the archdemon's emotions were clouding, quieting. The beast was flat on its belly; blood pooling beneath its neck from where her daggers were still lodged, along with the axe Alistair had wielded. Her heart lurched.

_This is it!_

Beside her Alistair's head lifted, his eyes darting from their foe to her, wide with terror. Another jerk of his head and he located the sword he had lost, skewered into the body of a darkspawn just a few long paces from where the beast lay.

He was considering it!

_Maker, no!_

Valeria scrambled to her feet, the toes of her boots finding purchase in the crevices of the stone beneath her.

And she ran. Metal scraped stone behind her and she pushed her legs on without mercy. His voice cried out from behind her, calling out her name, begging her to stop. In the same instance she recalled she had no weapon, her feet propelled her on towards Alistair's abandoned blade, and without even slowing she pulled it free of the genlock it was lodged within.

The archdemon raised its gnarled head with a shudder, its great jaws parting; ready to bite, to gnash, to sunder bone and flesh.

Valeria spun, dropping below the fanged maw in one single movement and dragged the blade along the vulnerable tear in its scales she had cleaved out previously. Blood showered down upon her, blinding her to her surroundings with hot, purplish-black torrents.

She leapt back from the beast and heard more than saw as the archdemon's head fell to the stonework. She blinked the foul liquid from her eyes, clearing her vision to find her prey one more. From where she had risen she heard the sound of armored boots beating against stone – he was coming. She dared not hesitate to look.

_I'm sorry my love, but __**I**__ am the one…_

Gritting her teeth, Valeria raised the blade high above her head and drove the point down through scales and skull and brain until it struck the stone beneath.

And then there were the screams; terrible, ear splitting screams.

_Her_ screams.

Energies exploded from the body beneath her and ripped through the Grey Warden faster than lightening, hotter than fire. It burned away the gloves encasing her fingers; blistering her skin and trying to boil the blood within her veins. Valeria shrieked from torture she had never come close to knowing, unable to release her grip on the blade. Something was endeavoring to tear her apart; to destroy her body and soul. Maker, her _bones_ were on fire! She could not see; could not hear; could not think beyond the wish for it to be over. She didn't care how anymore, only that it ended.

Abruptly her wish was granted and, for just a moment, Valeria had the briefest sensation of flight before existence became nothingness.

XXXX

There was silence at last, or at least Alistair could not hear anything; not beyond the echoes of her screams still ringing within his mind.

He did not notice as the darkspawn fled the tower. He did not see as the dwarves pursued; nor did he see the elves take point along the tower's watch stations, their eyes sharp and fingers loosing arrows, killing the fiends that retreated both atop the tower and on the ground bellow. He did not hear Wynne's distant call to her fellow mages.

He only saw Valeria.

Her limbs were bent at odd angles; her hair splayed over her face, the lovely strawberry locks staining dark with the red that was growing beneath her. The charred remains of her gloves were smoking like coals that had been doused with cold water. Not a breath stirred beneath her breast – he watched intently praying it would come; unable to will his legs to carry him closer.

A man in robes of the Circle was the first to kneel beside the broken Grey Warden, Wynne not a moment behind. Glowing hands turned the warden onto her back, touching, searching, weaving magic over and through Valeria's body. After a moment Wynne's eyes rose to the king's, with such sadness there it was unmistakable what she had found. Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly. The Circle mage's hands ceased to glow, sliding gently over Valeria's face, closing her vacant green eyes.

And Alistair did not hear as his voice lifted in a howl in despair.

_Fin_

XXXX

**Yes. I did this. Hate me. Then do something for yourselves. Take a look at what I've posted here for this story. Next go to my homepage (the link is on my profile) and read the journal entry from November 8th. Read the entire thing – it's not that long so skimming isn't necessary. **

**Then if you still feel like hating me, please feel free – and do it for all to read. I'll take it as a compliment to my writing (unless, that is, you didn't like it – then please tell me what it needed.)**


	16. From Victory, Vigilance & Sacrifice Come

**So here it is; my atonement for making you wait after reading Chapter 15. Because do you know when I wrote this? 10/29/2010 – the same day I wrote and posted Chapters 10 and 11. **_**And then I sat on this chapter**_**, giggling like the stupid little fan-girl I become when Alistair in involved, all eager to post it and knowing damn well that I had to wait for my other WIP chapters to be posted first. Like a kid on Christmas Eve. Do you know how hard that was? Arg! Appreciate the willpower people – I had it in spades here! (Riiiiiight…) This is probably my favorite chapter of this series (well, that and the smexy times). I hope you love reading this as much as I loved writing it. Thanks for being such fantastic supporters of my series! **

**From Victory, Vigilance and Sacrifice Comes…**

It was so familiar; like a dream from childhood, or a memory nearly lost to time. There was no pain. No fear, only purity in its rawest form. The world was silence and soft light and emptiness. It had been so long, but like the face of a cherished friend she had not seen in years, she remembered this.

It was peace.

She would stay here forever she knew; just exist here in her serene cocoon and drift alone for eternity.

…_Alone?_

No. No, not alone. She was… not supposed to be alone. Was she? Something stirred, different though just as familiar. It questioned her and raised something equally familiar. An emotion: confusion. A layer of her sheltering fog slipped away, and she could think a little more clearly.

There was another, she recalled, one who she had made a promise to. It had been an important promise – the most important one she'd ever made. She… she had to… had to what?

…_Not what. Who?_

Concern for what she could not remember joined her confusion, peeling back another layer of the tranquility blanketing her. Strange thoughts filled her. She remembered that she had to draw air into her lungs; remembered that somewhere in the nothingness that engulfed her, she still had lungs to fill. It was difficult to do, but after taking a moment to reacquaint herself with the process, she feebly succeeded in pulling air down her throat; the effort burning her windpipe and causing a slight tearing sensation in her chest. Something tripped, fluttered and then began to painfully beat an unsteady and weak rhythm against her ribs. Her heart? Right, she had a heart. Strange that she had forgotten that, and then remembered so spontaneously…

She could hear something then; a sound was breaking through her serenity. It was distant, as though she were hearing it from the bottom of a deep lake. A voice. For the first time she felt herself move, though not of her own free will. She grimaced without thought. She could feel the entirety of her body again, and it hurt. _It hurt_ _everywhere!_ With every breath she pulled, fire lanced across her chest. The beating in her chest echoed in her temples as though trying to burst her skull. There was something hard beneath her head and shoulders now, pressing against her tightly, digging into places tender from… from… why could she not remember?

_Listen._

Desire to hear more of the voice filled her, as well as the wish to remember what she had forgotten. The whiteness around her dimmed in response and the voice became clearer. She could hear little pieces of the things it spoke.

Valeria? Of course… that was her name. She remembered having a name, and a little more of herself too, and the white of her restful world faded quickly to black.

A battle. There had been a battle. Yes, yes she remembered now with growing enthusiasm. She had been fighting. Ah yes. Fighting. She'd been doing quite a bit of that recently, hadn't she?

At the memory of conflict, her cocoon of quiet no longer seemed inviting, but suffocating. This was not peace – she remembered peace. Peace was laughter and happiness and no fear. This… emptiness… this was something else, the gateway to something she was not yet ready for. She did not want it – whatever it was that followed this void.

…_Go._

The voice was closer. Above her… somewhere. It was so familiar, and she was drawn to it. She struggled against the blackness now, no longer wanting to surrender to it, but eager to escape. To return to the voice. She belonged there, she knew. The pain intensified, but she pressed on. Pain was real. Real like the voice. The more the pain came, the closer she came to the one who called her name and spoke words she recognized but could not yet understand.

Her head… her head pounded violently and she groaned, finding the ability to use her own voice once more. The hard thing at her back shifted, the voice above becoming almost frantic. She had to get to it. She had to reach the voice. Everything would be right again, if she could just make it to the voice.

Perhaps if she could touch it, she thought. Conscious that movement caused her body to scream in agony, Valeria slowly stretched out a tremulous hand into the blackness before her, and though she could not see it, something warm caught up her fingers lightly. Beyond the darkness other voices spoke softly. They were distant, though, so very distant. Yet the voice above her was close, familiar and so comforting.

The voice was going on quite a bit now and some of the things it said she could recall indistinctly. She knew those words: _Makers Breath_. They had meant something important to her once, something good. The voice spoke those words now, as well as her name.

She struggled against the grip on her fingers, finding it difficult to fight off. Yet the presence holding her released its careful embrace as though it understood. Valeria pushed her hand towards the voice, and found something soft and warm, familiar yet unnaturally damp. Feather-soft taps danced across her fingers as she pressed her hand contentedly to her discovery; leaving cooling trails in their wake. Her palm cupped to the wonderful thing beneath her touch and was cradled there gently by the warmth that had held her. Valeria did not pull away this time. She had found what she sought and the warm touch was soothing and very gentle.

The voices in the distance became excited, speaking quickly so that she could not understand. She ignored them instead, concentrating on the single voice that had lured her out of the void. It called her name again, and the softness beneath her hand moved with the words.

"Maker's Mercy, please…" it whispered and Valeria understood those words at last, "please. Open your eyes Valeria. Dearest, _look at me_, _please_."

Yes, she could open her eyes, she thought. The lids were heavy, but she fought against them anyway.

_He_ had asked her to.

She remembered him again, remembered that he was not just a voice but an entire being of warmth and joy and love. _How could she have forgotten him?_

More than anything she wanted to see his face; to know that he was real. She blinked slowly, white light burning a path through her eyes and into her skull; searing through her head like hot coals. She whimpered and shrank away from the light briefly before resolving to try again. If she did not try, she could not see his face. At length she found the light a little more bearable with every attempt. The distant voices rose in pitch and then as one fell into complete silence.

Another few moments and cloudy shadows began to mottle the light. More careful blinking brought them into focus – some were parts of a great building and others were people. The shadow above her was _him_; she could see him at last, the details of his face coming into focus. She sighed; relieved to be with him once more.

"Alistair…"

His voice cracked, "Oh… oh Maker… _thank you_."

Her hand was pressed to his cheek; the droplets that dampened her fingers fell from his eyes. He was speckled with reddish-purple blood and disheveled; and his expression was a mask of anxiety. But he was alive… and beautiful. Though her face was an accumulation of deep aches, Valeria could not suppress a satisfied smile.

At her mirth, his lips parted, his teeth clenched, and the strangest sounds passed from his throat. Her smile died upon her lips as she recognized the sound she had never before heard, even if she had seen his tears before. He was crying.

Alistair was crying.

_No._ No no no, this was wrong. Alistair should not cry. Not ever. He should laugh and tease and even get angry and shout, but never cry. Not like _this_. The need to comfort him overpowered her; drove strength into her limbs where none had been before. Her hand slid behind his head and she tried to pull herself up to him; her efforts thwarted by the very weight of her own body. Yet it did not matter, for he leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. His arm beneath her head and shoulders tightened on her, her bones throbbing at the embrace, yet at this angle she was able to cradle his neck in the crook of her elbow. The muscles of her upper arm felt as though they were shredding to ribbons with the effort, but she ignored their agony.

In barely a whisper she tried to shush her most beloved as a mother would her crying child, only to find her attempt had gone awry when his gasping deepened, and a large hand clutched the back of her head, pressing their brows and noses together tightly. He was beyond consoling. Once he had held her as she wept without control, she remembered. Now Valeria held to him as tightly as her beleaguered muscles would allow, letting his tears wash their faces and his sobs wrack their bodies.

"I thought…" the desperation in his voice ripped at her soul, "you weren't moving – weren't breathing – and I thought… I thought that she had lied. That I had lost you and… and…" He shook his head against hers, struggling for air. "… I knew it could happen… but I… I couldn't… not without you…" she tilted her chin back, taking his lips into hers and trying valiantly to quiet his misery.

"I'm here," she whispered against his mouth, finding her own voice as heavily choked as his. Was she crying? Perhaps some of the tears on her cheeks were hers after all. "Look at me. I'm here, Alistair." With great reluctance and a fair amount of ripping muscles in her arm, she pulled his head away so cinnamon eyes could peer down at her face. "See? I'm alright." His chin quivered, but he nodded anyway and his gasping quieted.

"Yes my dear, you are here, though the Maker only knows how." A gentle voice off to the side said gently. "She requires healing, Alistair, a great deal of it." Wynne. That's right, they had brought Wynne and Morrigan to the top of the tower with them; Wynne to heal and shield, and Morrigan to scorch and freeze.

Morrigan.

"She's gone, isn't she?" Her beloved nodded, not needing her to elaborate.

"She… she kept her word." He spoke of the apostate without ire for once, and Valeria couldn't tell to what he referred to: keeping the wardens alive or leaving immediately after the fight.

_Morrigan_… the apostate had saved her after all; for her soul was still intact. She wished she could have hugged her friend just once; she wished she could have thanked her properly…

Whether it was out of respect of her affection for the witch or concern over upsetting her and risking her health, Alistair murmured words of comfort into her fouled hair, as well as more prayers to the Maker, and Andraste, and whoever else would hear his gratitude for returning his Valeria to him.

Feminine hands gently pulled at the templar, and Valeria instantly wanted the press of his body against hers again. The pain was worth his touch. Those same hands then rested upon Valeria tenderly and warmth flowed from the contact through her body. Wynne's softly murmured words to the Grey Wardens were a comfort to them; the mage's low, mild voice making the magic coursing through Valeria's body less of an intrusion and more of a welcomed gift. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to experience her friend's healing as it seeped into her damaged body. It took quite a long time before Wynne was satisfied enough to cease her work. Stabbing pains dulled to minor aches while other minor aches dissipated, and when it was over Valeria was able to pull herself into a seated position, with Alistair's arms encircling her supportively once more.

Beyond Wynne's back, Leliana's troupe stood watch silently. Tears sparkled in the Orlesian's eyes, yet she managed a smile for her injured friend, and a brief whispered prayer of her own, thanking the Maker. Zevran granted her a conspiratorial grin before leaving the gathering of friends, at Wynne's request, to find mages who were still strong enough to ply more healing magic.

The tower beneath them was a maze of corridors and stairs, and Valeria found herself wondering how long she had been in that strange nothingness for her friends to have scaled the height of it to join the wardens' battle party.

Whatever Wynne had done, Valeria felt stronger, more like herself, though the elder mage wearily cautioned her that she would still need time to rest and recover. Wynne had been capable of doing only so much, and Valeria's body was only partially mended. Alistair quickly promised to make certain the injured woman would do what was required to recover fully, and for once the warden didn't bristle at his coddling. She would endure his bed rest and limited activity, the healing poultices and constant hovering; anything to wipe the fear from his eyes once and for all.

From her upright position Valeria now had a view of the battlefield where she had fallen, and a great mass of darkness beyond Alistair's shoulder caught her attention. The hulking corpse of the archdemon lay not more than twenty paces away, her brother's sword still firmly embedded in its skull with the opaque sheen of enchantments meant to weaken darkspawn still glowing beneath the gore. She had not realized at the time that it was Fergus' fine blade she had used to slay the beast; it had simply been the most convenient weapon at hand as she had raced recklessly ahead of Alistair to deliver the final blow. But now, seeing the Grey Wardens' great nemesis impaled upon the sword her brother had been given on the eve of his fifteenth year, it almost felt as if he had been there, guiding her hand.

Helping her to fulfill her destiny and playing his part in saving the world.

She wondered if Alistair had not been the only one to pull her from that void. Perhaps, like Wynne, there was a spirit in the Fade with a vested interest in her. And it _would_ be just like her elder sibling, she mused…

Valeria was not aware of the sad smile that crossed her features as she was lost to her thoughts, and did not see Alistair turn to investigate what had caught her attention.

"I didn't mean to lose his sword as I did," he murmured, pulling her from her speculations. Valeria's expression lost a bit of its sorrow and she shook her head.

"Leave it to Fergus to nose in on the glory," she said affectionately, running her fingers through his hair out of comfortable habit. At her touch a little of Alistair's misery seemed to dissipate and he sighed, leaning carefully into her hand.

It was comforting to see his pain ebb, and she gazed up into his face, using her unoccupied fingers to wipe the stains from his features and smooth his hair back into place where possible. The two had shared intimate moments many times while in the presence of their friends; the members of their party were well aware of the wardens' affection for one another, though it had never stopped them from teasing. She expected one of them to make a witty comment now, yet nothing came; and Alistair waited patiently for her to finish tending to his appearance.

"So, strange story," Valeria spoke at last to the man whose arms enveloped her protectively, "tell me if you heard this one." He gave her a small smile as she parodied that faithful conversation that had solidified their future together. "Two Grey Wardens fresh out of the joining manage to bumble their way out of annihilation, unite a kingdom, slay an archdemon, end a Blight, and survive to see the future beyond."

"Sounds absurd to me," her lover said, attempting to sound glib. Valeria's grin altered to match his humor.

"Indeed." Her lips grazed his. "So… what other impossibilities do you feel like realizing together, dear one?" The templar's smile became tender and more sincere. Oh, the hold he had over her! With that smile upon his lips he could tell her that he wanted the moon and, by Andraste's Blade, she would seek out a way to bring it to him!

Beneath them in the city's streets, the voices of men had been erupting in cheers for some time. The darkspawn were retreating; she could feel it in her blood. The Blight was ending. And within her something greater that the peace she had known in that white oblivion took root:

Hope.

For the first time since that terrible night when Duncan had saved her, Valeria knew hope for the future that lay before her; before _them_.

And after all, thirty years was a long time…

"Have I told you in the last five minutes that I love you?" Alistair murmured and Valeria placed a palm against his cheek once more, her thumb brushing the remaining dampness from his lashes.

"Not with words," she whispered, "but yes. Yes you have." His hands cupped the back of her neck and he drew her lips against his.

"Then let me say it aloud," he breathed, dusting reverent kisses upon her mouth. "I love you, Valeria…

"…forever."

_Fin_

XXXX

**You didn't REALLY think I'd leave poor Alistair alone like that, did you? Of course not! Stupid, squealy fan-girl here – **_**HELLOOO**_**! I am fairly certain that I'm stopping here. Because I LOVE this ending, and couldn't imagine the series ending better… at least for now… ;o)**

**Although it's always a little sad for me when a story I've been working on comes to its end, it helps to have a new addiction – er – **_**project**_** lined up. I just received a separate story idea I'm going to try and fulfill. So keep an eye out – you might just see another DAO story from me very soon! (Told you – I take suggestions if I think I can do them justice!)**


	17. Epilogue

**I love it when my brain makes me a liar about being done with a story… Nothing epic, just something that came to me and screamed in my brain like a neglected toddler until I put it in writing. And now I'm obligated to post it – I think there's a law or something…**

**Epilogue**

She sat at her writing desk, her quill poised absently over blank parchment. Ferelden's new queen had thought it would be an easy tale to write. Scholars and historians had of late been clamoring at chance to draft the account, inundating the palace with requests for the details of the journey of Ferelden's heroes through their battle against the Blight. One by one she had reviewed and dismissed the requests, finally choosing to put the adventures to ink personally. It seemed only fitting after all.

Yet sitting here, intentionally pulling to mind stories so dear and yet still so raw to her… brilliant green eyes filled and she blinked quickly before the tears could escape and ruin the parchment beneath her fingers.

_Maybe it is still too soon._

"Your Majesty?" Like a soap bubble her thoughts burst and she raised her attention to the man before her. At the appearance of her visitor, she was able to smile in earnest again.

"Ah, my dear Senior Enchanter," she stood and held out her hands for her guest to take up; "I heard you have arrived earlier. How wonderful to see you again!" The strapping mage cleared his throat and released her fingers to fidget at his fine robes, his usual whit blatantly absent.

"Senior Enchanter," he mused with a smirk, "it still sounds so odd… especially coming from you. Would you mind leaving off of the title whenever possible?"

"Only if you'll do the same," she sighed and gestured to the chair before her desk, returning to her own seat, "I admit being addressed as Your Majesty seems so…" she grimaced.

"Of course. Forgive me I didn't think-"

"No, Connor," she sighed. "It's alright. I… they warned me the time was coming. I didn't believe it, I suppose, or perhaps I just didn't want to consider it. I was happy in my ignorance…"

"I'm so sorry, Roselle," the mage whispered, his hand closing around hers upon the desk, and the queen felt her eyes begin to burn again.

"One night, they just… came to my chambers; gave me their instructions to the Landsmeet along with the key to the chest holding Uncle Fergus' sword, The Rose's Thorn, and all of their precious gifts…" she could feel her chin quivering at the memory of those final embraces, kisses to her forehead and tender touches of her face and hair. She could still hear their whispers telling her how proud they were of her; of how much they loved her – how they would _always_ love her. She felt her composure slipping and the heavy press of the sob building within her chest. Tucked away in the study she had inherited from her father with only Connor to bear witness, Roselle let slip the persona of Queen Regent and became the lonely daughter her heart knew her to be.

"It was so… hard… to let them go… to watch them walk out of my chambers… they were so healthy. So alive. If not for the taint…" The parchment beneath her puckered with mutinous tears, and Connor's fingers gripped her hand tightly; his free hand finding hers and holding to her sympathetically until she could regain herself. With minimal effort, the young woman swallowed down the sob that tried to strangle her. She was becoming better at quieting her misery, though she had not yet mastered her rebellious tears.

Hoping for a quick distraction, Roselle freed a hand to wipe at her cheeks and tuck a stray lock of sandy-brown hair behind her ear.

"I'm recording their struggle against the Blight," she said in a bright voice that she knew was clearly forced, though her dear friend said nothing, "or trying to. I couldn't bear the thought of letting some stranger write the account. Mother and father told me many stories of their adventures. I was hoping you could help fill in the gaps they left."

Connor shrugged feebly, "I'm afraid all I remember of their journeys came after they sent Wynne into the Fade for me; and even then, most of what I know is only from hearsay. My mother kept me tucked within the castle for as long as she could afterward, until Wynne and Irvine came to collect me. By then it was all over." He thought for a moment. "Have you thought to ask Ser Oghren?" At this Roselle laughed mirthlessly.

"Oghren was drunk during most of their adventure," she revealed. "And mother advised me to not question him regarding anything of their journey together – apparently there were times she did not want him to recall for me." Connor's expression became puzzled.

"You don't think he and your mother-" Roselle recoiled in disgust.

"Andraste's flaming sword, no!" She cried, and Connor chuckled at her very un-ladylike epithet; a habit she had acquired from her father, much to her mother's disapproval. "Oghren found Felsie early on, remember. Besides, I think it's something a bit more shameful. Oghren asked me once if I had my mother's tolerance for ale. Then he laughed the most wicked sound I'd ever heard from him. Mother's face flushed six different shades of red and father threatened Oghren with a skinning if the dwarf ever tried to test that query on me."

"Of course." Connor chortled and Roselle glared at him until he regained his composure. With a sigh and a resigned shake of her head, the young queen retrieved a fresh piece of parchment and gazed at it blankly for a moment.

"I could try to find Leliana, or Zevran," she mused, "or even…"

Connor's mirth evaporated like water before dragon's fire, and his face fell into a scowl. "No. You wouldn't dare. Roselle, they told you not to. They made a promise – _you_ made a promise." She sighed.

"I know. I just wonder…" she shook her head. "What if you had another sibling out there somewhere? Wouldn't you want to-"

"Not if _she_ was the mother," Connor bristled. "You never met Morrigan, Roselle. Though I only met her a few times, the impression stuck. She was the only one who voted to kill me when I caused… when my status as a mage was discovered." Though it was decades passed, Connor still had trouble speaking of the incident from his youth that had killed so many. "I can't imagine anything raised by her to be worth knowing; not even with your father's blood in his or her veins. I know your mother cared for the witch but, Maker smile upon her, she was the only one."

With a rueful chuckle, the queen shook her head. "This is exactly why I need you here, Connor. You're so much wiser than I. I need you here to give me a level head." At this her friend's smile returned.

"Well the First Enchanter wasn't exactly thrilled with your request, but she understood. A mage advisor is not uncommon - Wynne was advisor to your father until she passed. And I must admit; it's nice to be away from the templars."

"Well I must admit; it's nice to have family in the castle again." Connor smirked.

"You know we're not actually family," he said, teasing her again in a private joke from her early childhood. "Our fathers weren't-"

"Mother always said family is not about blood." Roselle interrupted with a raised hand. "It is about who you keep close to your heart." It was not an admission of love born out of attraction or romance. It was deeper. The man was like an elder brother, or a beloved cousin. When she looked at him she never saw a potent mage, or the son of the arl who had helped to heal the country. She saw Connor – just Connor – the young man who had cleaned her scraped knees and wiped her tears as a child. From across her desk he smiled at her with sincerity.

"Thank you, Rose," he said softly. "It's good to know you hold me as dear as I do you."

"Father and mother cared about you, too," Roselle admitted, glancing down to the paper once more, "he never said it aloud, but I believe father thought of you as family. He never had anyone… just that troll of a woman he once considered 'sister'. But the way he would speak of you to others, it was almost as though he was a proud elder brother or uncle." She chuckled. "He would have made a terrible templar, for all his boasting of you – a mage." No response came, and when Roselle looked up she was surprised to see Connor's eyes sparkling.

"I…" his voice was soft and heavy, "I cannot tell you what it means to hear that. Your father… he was a great man; one of the greatest I ever knew. And your mother was equally as admirable. Thank you Rose, for giving me such a gift."

The queen said nothing, but stared silently back at the parchment before her for a time.

For nineteen years Roselle had been blessed with the finest parents in all of Thedas. Never did she question their love for her, or for each other. She had always known how fortunate she was – her father's sad upbringing had taught her the value of her family. Together they had shared laughter and joy and trust that could have come from the happily-ever-after of one of her story books.

And now the loss of two such indomitable figures from her life left a hole she doubted would ever fill. Absently she trailed quill tip against parchment;

_Alistair Valeria Father Mother Alistair Valeria Roselle_

A warm hand reached out and stilled her fingers, and Roselle looked up into Connor's sympathetic eyes.

"They loved you, Roselle, just as they loved one another." He said softly. "They loved each other so fiercely that when it was time for one of their Callings, they went together. Never fault them for such devotion. Instead pray to the Maker that someday you can find such a deep connection with someone."

"That doesn't sound like something a practical mage or royal advisor should be recommending," Roselle muttered. She was fully aware that many of the court advisors thought the king and queen's emotional attachments would impede their judgment, though her parents never once gave validity to their beliefs.

"You're right, it's not." Connor replied. "It is the wish of someone who knew and cares for your family. I wish this for you because it is how you were raised – to love fiercely and with all of your soul. I wish it because I know that such love will not hinder you as some would believe – it will inspire you, just as it inspired your parents."

Lost in thought, Roselle did not notice when her lips parted slowly, as reflection blossomed into idea.

"Of course," she said softly, "it inspires." She dragged a clean page before her and dipped her quill into ink, pausing to think for only a moment. She had been trying to write a historical account worthy of any scholar – one based on fact and timelines and reason.

Yet the story of her parents' lives together had been something else entirely. It had revolved around their love, their beliefs, and the spirited will they had held fast to despite the madness crashing down around their ears.

She smirked to herself; a lopsided smile that echoed her father's, set within round lips that mirrored her mothers.

Reason had nothing to do with what her parents had done during the Blight. They had been ruled by emotion.

"Will you stay for a while?" She asked softly. "It helps to have someone here." Connor leaned back in his chair and propped his boots up onto the other fine stuffed chair before the desk; intent on getting comfortable.

"That is why I came to Denerim, Roselle," he said affectionately, "to be here for you." Her eyes rose to him and she smiled gratefully to the man she considered family.

Slowly, deliberately, Roselle placed quill to parchment once more and began to write.

She wrote of playful taunts and hidden glances; of a single rose and the love that bloomed from a simple gesture. She wrote of struggles and heartache and choices no man should have to make; choices that fell upon the shoulders of two Grey Wardens too new to their order to know what lay before them.

Roselle wrote of a bond so strong that not even death could break it – for her mother had died once; and only her love for her betrothed had brought her back.

The daughter of the Grey Wardens wrote of all of the things they had told her and poured into it every scrap of the emotion that they had displayed. It was the only way to tell their story properly.

And when the lamps had all but run dry and her fingers cramped, Roselle set aside her quill and peered down at the sheaf of parchment before her.

_There is so much left to tell._

"Connor?" She breathed and the chestnut-haired man stirred, blinking drowsy eyes at her, "I have to find Leliana and Zevran. And I'm sending for Oghren." She smiled softly, remembering how her mother had blushed so furiously when Oghren had spoken of her tolerance for ale.

Roselle didn't need historical accuracy or factual accounts – she needed to hear of their time together as it truly had been; full of the trivialities that made their tale that much more incredible. Because the pair of heroes who had brought down the archdemon and the Blight hadn't been god-like as those scholars and writers would have spun them to be. They had been a jumble of human imperfections, illogical emotions and unlikely strengths.

They had proven that anyone with the drive and the will could accomplish great things, if only they set themselves to the task. Roselle believed firmly that her parents would have liked to have been remembered in such a way.

With reverent fingers, Alistair and Valeria's daughter reached up to the thin gold chain around her neck, where her father's mended pendant and her mother's enchanted ring hung close to her heart.

Forever her inspiration.

_Fin_

XXXX

**This just came to me, as I was trying to write a story about Fergus. I know I had said I was leaving off with Chapter 16, but when an epilogue smacks you in the face, you don't just ignore it. :o) And in writing it this way, it doesn't feel like I cheapened Alistair and Valeria's ending. **


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